[LIBRARY") 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CAtlFORWM. 

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THE  DEFINITE   OBJECT 


Jefferp  Jfarnol 


THE  BBOAD  HIGHWAY 
THE  AMATEUR  GENTLEMAN 
THE  HONOURABLE  MR.  TAWNISH 
BELTANE  THE  SMITH 
THE  DEFINITE  OBJECT 


"You  didn't  tell  me  your  name!"  said  she,  fumbling  in  a 

well-worn  little  hand  bag  for  her  latchkey. 

FRONTISPIECE.     See  page  58. 


THE 
DEFINITE  OBJECT 

A  Romance  of  New  York 


BY 


JEFFERY  FARNOL 


WITH   FRONTISPIECE   BT 

F.  VAUX  WILSON 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 

1917 


Copyright,  1917, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 

All  rights  reserved 
Published,  June,  1917 


THE    COLONIAL    PRESS 
C.  H.  SIMONDS   CO.,    BOSTON,   U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTEK  PAGE 
I     Which  Describes,  among  Other  Things,  a  Pair 

of  Whiskers 1 

II     Of    a    Mournful    Millionaire    Who    Lacked    an 

Object 9 

III     How  Geoffrey  Ravenslee  Went  Seeking  an  Ob 
ject      22 

IV     Telling   How   He   Came  to   Hell's    Kitchen   at 

Peep  o'  Day 35 

V     How  Mrs.  Trapes  Acquired  a  New  Lodger,  De 
spite  her  Elbows 43 

VI     How   Spike   Initiated   Mr.    Ravenslee   into  the 

Gentle  Art  of  Shopping 47 

VII     Concerning  Ankles,  Stairs,  and  Neighbourliness  55 

VIII     Of  Candies  and  Confidences 59 

IX     Which  Recounts  the  End  of  an  Episode    ...  71 

X     Tells  How  Mr.  Ravenslee  Went  into  Trade  .    .  81 

XI     Antagonism  is  Born  and  War  Declared    ...  90 

XII     Containing  Some  Description  of  a  Supper  Party  106 

XIII     Wherein  may  be  Found  Some  Particulars  of  the 

Beautiful  City  of  Perhaps 117 

XIV     Of  a  Text,  a  Letter,  and  a  Song 124 

XV     Which  Introduces  Joe  and  the  Old  Un  .    .    .    .  133 
XVI     Of   the    First    and    Second    Persons,    Singular 

Number       149 

XVII     How  Geoffrey  Ravenslee  Made  a  Deal  in  Real 

Estate  159 


VI 


Contents 


CHAPTER  PAGE 
XVIII     How  Spike  Hearkened  to  Poisonous  Sug 
gestion  and  Soapy  Began  to  Wonder     .  162 

XIX     In  which  the  Poison  Begins  to  Work    .    .  169 

XX     Of  an  Expedition  by  Night 174 

XXI     How  M'Ginnis  Threatened  and  — Went  .  187 

XXII     Tells    of   an   Early   Morning   Visit   and   a 

Warning      194* 

XXIII     Chiefly  Concerning  a  Letter 200 

XXIV     How  the  Old  Un  and  Certain  Others  had 

Tea      206 

XXV     How  Spike  Made  a  Choice  and  a  Promise  219 

XXVI     Which  Makes  Further  Mention  of  a  Ring  224 

XXVII     Mrs.  Trapes  Upon  the  Millennium    .    .    .  230 

XXVIII     Which  should  have   Related  Details  of  a 

Wedding 236 

XXIX     In  which  Hermione  Makes  a  Fateful  De 
cision        242 

XXX     How   Geoffrey   Ravenslee   Departed   from 

Hell's  Kitchen 251 

XXXI     In  which  Soapy  Takes  a  Hand   ....  259 

XXXII     Of  Harmony  and  Discord 269 

XXXIII     Of   Tragedy 276 

XXXIV     Of  Remorse 279 

XXXV     How  Geoffrey  Ravenslee  Came  Out  of  the 

Dark 289 

XXXVI     Concerning  a  Clew 296 

XXXVII     The  Woes  of  Mr.  Brimberly 303 

XXXVIII     In    which    Soapy    Takes   upon    Himself   a 

New  Role   .  312 


Contents  vii 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXXIX     The  Old  Un  Advises  and  Ravenslee  Acts  317 

XL     Concerning  a  Handful  of  Pebbles  ....  325 

XLI     Of  a  Packet  of  Letters 331 

XLII     Tells  How  Ravenslee  Broke  his  Word  and 

Why 336 

XLIII     How  Spike  Got  Even 339 

XLIV     Retribution 342 

XLV     Of  the  Old  Un  and  Fate 347 

XLVI     In  which  Geoffrey  Ravenslee  Obtains  his 

Object 353 


THE  DEFINITE  OBJECT 


CHAPTER    I 

WHICH  DESCRIBES,  AMONG  OTHER  THINGS,  A  PAIR  OF 
WHISKERS 

IN  the  writing  of  books,  as  all  the  world  knows,  two  things 
are  above  all  other  things  essential  —  the  one  is  to  know 
exactly  when  and  where  to  leave  off,  and  the  other  to  be 
equally  certain  when  and  where  to  begin. 

Now  this  book,  naturally  enough,  begins  with  Mr. 
Brimberly's  whiskers ;  begins  at  that  moment  when  he 
coughed  and  pulled  down  his  waistcoat  for  the  first  time. 
And  yet  (since  action  is  as  necessary  to  the  success  of  a 
book  as  to  life  itself)  it  should  perhaps  begin  more  prop 
erly  at  the  psychological  moment  when  Mr.  Brimberly 
coughed  and  pulled  down  the  garment  aforesaid  for  the 
third  time,  since  it  is  then  that  the  real  action  of  this 
story  commences. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  beyond  all  question  that  nowhere 
in  this  wide  world  could  there  possibly  be  found  just  such 
another  pair  of  whiskers  as  those  which  adorned  the 
plump  cheeks  of  Mr.  Brimberly;  without  them  he  might 
have  been  only  an  ordinary  man,  but,  possessing  them,  he 
was  the  very  incarnation  of  all  that  a  butler  could  pos 
sibly  be. 

And  what  whiskers  these  were !  So  soft,  so  fleecy,  so 
purely  white,  that  at  times  they  almost  seemed  like  the 
wings  of  cherubim,  striving  to  soar  away  and  bear  Mr. 
Brimberly  into  a  higher  and  purer  sphere.  Again,  what 
Protean  whiskers  were  these,  whose  fleecy  pomposity  could 
overawe  the  most  superior  young  footmen  and  reduce 
page-boys,  tradesmen,  and  the  lower  orders  generally,  to 


2  The  Definite  Object 

a  state  of  perspiring  humility;  to  his  equals  how  calmly 
aloof,  how  blandly  dignified;  and  to  those  a  misguided 
fate  had  set  above  him,  how  demurely  deferential,  how 
obligingly  obsequious !  Indeed,  Mr.  Brimberly's  whiskers 
were  all  things  to  all  men,  and  therein  lay  their  potency. 

Mr.  Brimberly  then,  pompous,  affable,  and  most  sedate, 
having  motioned  his  visitor  into  his  master's  favourite 
chair,  set  down  the  tray  of  decanters  and  glasses  upon  the 
piano,  coughed,  and  pulled  down  his  waistcoat;  and  Mr. 
Brimberly  did  it  all  with  that  air  of  portentous  dignity 
and  leisurely  solemnity  which,  together  with  his  whiskers, 
made  him  the  personality  he  was. 

"  And  you  're  still  valeting  for  Barberton,  are  you,  Mr. 
Stevens?  "  he  blandly  enquired. 

"  I  've  been  with  his  lordship  six  months,  now,"  nodded 
Mr.  Stevens. 

"  Ah ! "  said  Mr.  Brimberly,  opening  a  certain  carved 
cabinet  and  reaching  thence  a  box  of  his  master's  choicest 
Havanas,  "six  months,  indeed!  And  'ow  is  Barberton? 
I  hacted  in  the  capacity  of  his  confidential  valet  a  good 
many  years  ago,  as  I  told  you,  and  we  always  got  on  very 
well  together,  very  well,  indeed.  'Ow  is  Barberton?  " 

"  Oh,  'e  'd  be  right  enough  if  it  war  n't  for  'is  gout  which 
gets  'im  in  the  big  toe  now  and  then,  and  'is  duns  and 
creditors  and  sich-like  low  fellers,  as  gets  'im  everywhere 
and  constant !  'E  '11  never  be  quite  'imself  until  'e  mar 
ries  money  —  and  plenty  of  it !  " 

"  A  American  hair-ess ! "  nodded  Mr.  Brimberly. 
"  Pre-cisely !  I  very  nearly  married  'im  to  a  rich  widder 
ten  years  ago.  'E  'd  'ave  been  settled  for  life  if  'e  'd  took 
my  advice!  But  Barberton  was  always  inclined  to  be  a 
little  'eadstrong.  The  widder  in  question  'appened  to  be 
a  trifle  par-say,  I  '11  admit,  also  it  was  'inted  that  one  of 
'er  —  lower  limbs  was  cork.  But  then,  'er  money,  sir — • 
'er  jools!"  Mr.  Brimberly  raised  eyes  and  hands  and 
shook  his  head  until  his  whiskers  quivered  in  a  very 
ecstasy. 

"  But  a  wooden  leg  —  "  began  Mr.  Stevens  dubiously. 


A  Pair  of  Whiskers  3 

"  I  said  '  limb  ',  sir !  "  said  Mr.  Brimberly,  his  whiskers 
distinctly  agitated,  "  a  cork  limb,  sir !  And  Lord  bless 
me,  a  cork  limb  ain't  to  be  sniffed  at  contemptuous  when 
it  brings  haffluence  with  it,  sir!  At  least,  my  sentiments 
leans  that  way." 

"  Oh  —  ditto,  certainly,  sir !  I  'd  take  haffluence  to  my 
'eart  if  she  came  with  both  le  —  both  of  'em  cork,  if  it 
meant  haffluence  like  this !  "  Mr.  Stevens  let  his  pale, 
prominent  eyes  wander  slowly  around  the  luxuriant  splen 
dour  of  the  room.  "  My  eye !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  it 's  easy 
to  see  as  your  governor  don't  have  to  bother  about  marry 
ing  money,  cork  limbs  or  otherwise!  Very  rich,  ain't  'e, 
Mr.  Brimberly?  " 

Mr.  Brimberly  set  down  the  decanter  he  chanced  to  be 
holding,  and  having  caressed  each  fluffy  whisker,  smiled. 

"  I  think,  sir,"  said  he  gently,  "  y-es,  I  think  we  may 
answer  *  yes  '  to  your  latter  question.  I  think  we  may  tell 
you  and  admit  'ole-'earted  and  frank,  sir,  that  the  Ravens- 
lee  fortune  is  f ab'lous,  sir,  stoopendious  and  himmense !  " 

"  Oh,  Lord !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Stevens,  and  his  pale  eyes, 
much  wider,  now  wandered  up  from  the  Persian  rug  be 
neath  his  boots  to  the  elaborately  carved  ceiling  above  his 
head.  "  My  aunt !  "  he  murmured. 

"  Oh,  I  think  we  're  fairly  comfortable  'ere,  sir,"  nodded 
Mr.  Brimberly  complacently,  "  yes,  fairly  comfortable,  I 
think." 

"  Comfortable !  "  ejaculated  the  awe-struck  Mr.  Stevens, 
"  I  should  say  so !  My  word !  " 

"  Yes,"  pursued  Mr.  Brimberly,  "  comfortable,  and  I 
ventur'  to  think,  tasteful,  sir,  for  I  '11  admit  young  Ravens- 
lee  —  though  a  millionaire  and  young  —  'as  taste.  Ob 
serve  this  costly  bricky-brack !  Oh,  yes,  young  Har  is  a 
man  of  taste  indoobitably,  I  think  you  must  admit." 

"  Very  much  so  indeed,  sir !  "  answered  Mr.  Stevens  with 
his  pallid  glance  on  the  array  of  bottles.  "  '  Three  Star,' 
I  think,  Mr.  Brimberly?  " 

"  Sir,"  sighed  Mr.  Brimberly  in  gentle  reproach,  "  you 
'ere  be'old  Cognac  brandy  as  could  n't  be  acquired  for 


4  The  Definite  Object 

twenty-five  dollars  the  bottle!  Then  'ere  we  'ave  jubilee 
port,  a  rare  old  sherry,  and  whisky.  Now  what  shall  we 
make  it?  You,  being  like  myself,  a  Englishman  in  this 
'ere  land  of  eagles,  spread  and  otherwise,  suppose  we  make 
it  a  B  and  a  Hess  ?  " 

"  By  all  means  !  "  nodded  Mr.  Stevens. 

"  I  was  meditating,"  said  Mr.  Brimberly,  busied  with 
the  bottles  and  glasses,  "  I  was  cogitating  calling  hup 
Mr.  Jenkins,  the  Stanways'  butler  across  the  way.  The 
Stanways  is  common  people,  parvynoo,  Mr.  Stevens,  par- 
vynoo,  but  Mr.  Jenkins  is  very  superior  and  plays  the 
banjer  very  affecting.  Our  'ousekeeper  and  the  maids  is 
gone  to  bed,  and  I  've  give  our  footmen  leave  of  habsence 
—  I  thought  we  might  'ave  a  nice,  quiet  musical  hour  or 
so.  You  perform  on  the  piano-forty,  I  believe,  sir?  " 

"  Only  very  occasional ! "  Mr.  Stevens  admitted. 
"  But,"  and  here  his  pale  eyes  glanced  toward  the  door, 
"  do  I  understand  as  he  is  out  for  the  night  ?  " 

"  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Brimberly  ponderously,  "  what  *  V 
might  you  be  pleased  to  mean  ?  " 

"  I  was  merely  allooding  to  —  to  your  governor,  sir." 

Mr.  Brimberly  glanced  at  his  guest,  set  down  the  glass 
he  was  in  the  act  of  filling  and  —  pulled  down'  his  waist 
coat  for  the  second  time. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  and  his  cherubic  whiskers  seemed  posi 
tively  to  quiver,  "  I  presoom  —  I  say,  I  presoom  you  are 
referring  to  —  Young  Har?  " 

"  I  meant  Mr.  Ravenslee." 

"  Then  may  I  beg  that  you  '11  allood  to  him  'enceforth 
as  Young  Har?  This  is  Young  Har's  own  room,  sir. 
These  is  Young  Har's  own  picters,  sir.  When  Young  Har 
is  absent,  I  generally  sit  'ere  with  me  cigar  and  observe 
said  picters.  I  'm  fond  of  hart,  sir ;  I  find  hart  soothing 
and  restful.  The  picters  surrounding  of  you  are  all 
painted  by  Young  Har's  very  own  'and  —  subjeks  vari 
ous.  Number  one  —  a  windmill  very  much  out  o'  repair, 
but  that 's  hart,  sir.  Number  two  —  a  lady  dressed  in 
what  I  might  term  dish-a-bell,  sir,  and  there  is  n't  much 


A  Pair  of  Whiskers  5 

of  it,  but  that 's  hart  again.  Number  three  —  a  sunset. 
Number  four  —  moonlight ;  'e  did  n't  get  the  moon  in  the 
picter  but  the  light 's  there  and  that 's  the  great  thing  — 
effect,  sir,  effect !  Of  course,  being  only  studies,  they 
don't  look  finished  —  which  is  the  most  hartisticest  part 
about  'em!  But,  lord!  Young  Har  never  finishes  any 
thing  —  too  tired !  'Ang  me,  sir,  if  I  don't  think  'e  were 
born  tired!  But  then,  'oo  ever  knew  a  haristocrat  as 
wasn't?" 

"  But,"  demurred  Mr.  Stevens,  staring  down  into  his 
empty  glass,  "  I  thought  'e  was  a  American,  your  — 
Young  Har?  " 

"  Why,  'e  is  and  'e  ain't,  sir.  His  father  was  only  a 
American,  I  '11  confess,  but  his  mother  was  blue  blood, 
every  drop  guaranteed,  sir,  and  as  truly  English  as  —  as 
I  am!" 

"  And  is  he  the  Mr.  Ravenslee  as  is  the  sportsman? 
Goes  in  for  boxing,  don't  'e?  Very  much  fancied  as  a 
heavyweight,  ain't  'e  ?  My  governor  's  seen  him  box  and 
says  'e  's  a  perfect  snorter,  by  Jove !  " 

Mr.  Brimberly  sighed,  and  soothed  a  slightly  agitated 
whisker. 

"  Why,  yes,"  he  admitted,  "  I  'm  afraid  'e  does  box  — 
but  only  as  a  ammitoor,  Mr.  Stevens,  strickly  as  a  ammi- 
toor,  understand !  " 

"  And  he  's  out  making  a  night  of  it,  is  he?  "  enquired 
Mr.  Stevens,  leaning  back  luxuriously  and  stretching  his 
legs.  "  Bit  of  a  rip,  ain't  'e?  " 

"A  —  wot,  sir?"  enquired  Mr.  Brimberly  with  raised 
brows. 

"  Well,  very  wild,  ain't  he  —  drinks,  gambles,  and 
hetceteras,  don't  he?  " 

"  Why,  as  to  that,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Brimberly,  dex 
terously  performing  on  the  syphon,  "  I  should  answer  you, 
drink  'e  may,  gamble  'e  do,  hetceteras  I  won't  answer  for, 
'im  being  the  very  hacme  of  respectability  though  'e  is  a 
millionaire  and  young." 

"  And  when  might  you  expect  'im  back?  " 


6  The  Definite  Object 

"  Why,  there  's  no  telling,  Mr.  Stevens." 

"  Eh?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Stevens,  and  sat  up  very  suddenly. 

"  'Is  movements,  sir,  is  quite  —  ah  —  quite  metehoric !  " 

"  My  eye !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Stevens,  gulping  his  brandy 
and  soda  rather  hastily. 

"  Metehoric  is  the  only  word  for  it,  sir !  "  pursued  Mr. 
Brimberly  with  a  slow  nod.  "  'E  may  drop  in  on  me  at 
any  moment,  sir !  " 

"  Why,  then,"  said  his  guest,  rising,  "  p'r'aps  I  'd  better 
be  moving?  " 

"  On  the  other  'and,"  pursued  Mr.  Brimberly,  smiling 
and  caressing  his  left  whisker,  "  'e  may  be  on  'is  way  to 
Hafghanistan  or  Hasia  Minor  at  this  pre-cise  moment  — 
'e  is  that  metehoric,  lord!  These  millionaires  is  much  of 
a  muchness,  sir,  'ere  to-day,  gone  to-morrer.  Noo  York 
this  week,  London  or  Paris  the  next.  Young  Har  is  al 
ways  upsetting  my  plans,  'e  is,  and  that 's  a  fact,  sir ! 
Me  being  a  nat'rally  quiet,  reasonable,  and  law-abiding 
character,  I  objects  to  youthful  millionaires  on  principle, 
Mr.  Stevens,  on  principle !  " 

"  Ditto !  "  nodded  Mr.  Stevens,  his  glance  wandering 
uneasily  to  the  door  again,  "  ditto  with  all  my  'eart,  sir. 
If  it 's  all  the  same  to  you,  I  think  p'r'aps  I  'd  better  be 
hopping  —  you  know  —  " 

"  Oh,  don't  you  worry  about  Young  Har ;  'e  won't 
bother  us  to-night ;  'e  's  off  Long  Island  way  to  try  his 
newest  'igh-power  racing  car  —  'e  's  driving  in  the  Van- 
derbilt  Cup  Race  next  month.  To-night  'e  expects  to  do 
eighty  miles  or  so,  and  'opes  to  sleep  at  one  of  'is  clubs. 
I  say  'e  'opes  an'  expects  so  to  do !  " 

"  Yes,"  nodded  Mr.  Stevens,  "  certainly,  but  what  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

"  Sir,"  sighed  Mr.  Brimberly,  "  if  you  'd  been  forced  by 
stern  dooty  to  sit  be'ind  Young  Har  in  a  fast  automobile 
as  I  'ave,  you  'd  know  what  I  mean.  Reckless?  Speed? 
Well,  there !  "  and  Mr.  Brimberly  lifted  hands  and  eyes 
and  shook  his  head  until  his  whiskers  vibrated  with  horror. 

"  Then  you  're  pretty  sure,"  said  Mr.  Stevens,  settling 


A  Pair  of  Whiskers  7 

luxurious  boots  upon  a  cushioned  chair,  "  you  're  pretty 
sure  he  won't  come  bobbing  up  when  least  expected?  " 

"  Pretty  sure !  "  nodded  Mr.  Brimberly.  "  You  see, 
this  nooest  car  is  the  very  latest  thing  in  racing  cars  — 
cost  a  fortune,  consequently  it 's  bound  to  break  down  — 
these  here  expensive  cars  always  do,  believe  me !  " 

"  Why,  then,"  said  Mr.  Stevens,  helping  himself  to  one 
of  Mr.  Brimberly's  master's  cigars,  "  I  say  let  joy  and 
'armony  be  unconfined!  How  about  Jenkins  and  'is 
banjer?  " 

"  I  '11  call  'im  up  immediate !  "  nodded  Mr.  Brimberly, 
rising.  "  Mr.  Jenkins  is  a  true  hartist,  equally  facetious 
and  soulful,  sir !  " 

So  saying,  Mr.  Brimberly  arose  and  crossed  toward 
the  telephone.  But  scarcely  had  he  taken  three  steps  when 
he  paused  suddenly  and  stood  rigid  and  motionless,  his 
staring  gaze  fixed  upon  the  nearest  window ;  for  from  the 
shadowy  world  beyond  came  a  sound,  faint  as  yet  and 
far  away,  but  a  sound  there  was  no  mistaking  —  the  dis 
mal  tooting  of  an  automobile  horn. 

"  'Eavens  an'  earth !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Brimberly,  and 
crossing  to  the  window  he  peered  out.  Once  again  the 
horn  was  heard,  but  very  much  nearer  now,  and  louder, 
whereupon  Mr.  Brimberly  turned,  almost  hastily,  and  his 
visitor  rose  hurriedly. 

"  It 's  very  annoying,  Mr.  Stevens,"  said  he,  "  but  can 
I  trouble  you  to  —  to  step  —  er  —  down  —  stairs  —  with 
the  glasses?  It's  'ighly  mortifying,  but  may  I  ask  you 
to  —  er — step  a  little  lively,  Mr.  Stevens?" 

Without  a  word,  Mr.  Stevens  caught  up  the  tray  from 
the  piano  and  glided  away  on  his  toe-points ;  whereupon 
Mr.  Brimberly  (being  alone)  became  astonishingly  agile 
and  nimble  all  at  once,  diving  down  to  straighten  a  rug 
here  and  there,  rearranging  chairs  and  tables;  he  even 
opened  the  window  and  hurled  two  half-smoked  cigars  far 
out  into  the  night ;  and  his  eye  was  as  calm,  his  brow  as 
placid,  his  cheek  as  rosy  as  ever,  only  his  whiskers  —  those 
snowy,  telltale  whiskers,  quivered  spasmodically,  very 


8  The  Definite  Object 

much  as  though  endeavouring  to  do  the  manifestly  im 
possible  and  flutter  away  with  Mr.  Brimberly  altogether ; 
yes,  it  was  all  in  his  whiskers. 

Thus  did  Mr.  Brimberly  bustle  softly  to  and  fro  until 
he  paused,  all  at  once,  arrested  by  the  sound  of  a  slow, 
firm  step  near  by.  Then  Mr.  Brimberly  coughed,  smoothed 
his  winglike  whiskers,  and  —  pulled  down  his  waistcoat 
for  the  third  time.  And  lo !  even  as  he  did  so,  the  door 
opened,  and  the  hero  of  this  history  stood  upon  the 
threshold. 


CHAPTER    II 

OF   A   MOURNFUL,   MILLIONAIRE  WHO   LACKED  AN   OBJECT 

GEOFFREY  RAVENSLEE  was  tall  and  pale  and  very  languid, 
so  languid  indeed  that  the  automobile  coat  he  bore  across 
his  arm  slipped  to  the  floor  ere  Mr.  Brimberly  could  take 
it,  after  which  he  shed  his  cap  and  goggles  and  dropped 
them,  drew  off  his  gauntlets  and  dropped  them  and,  cross 
ing  to  his  favourite  lounge  chair,  dropped  himself  into  it, 
and  lay  there  staring  into  the  fire. 

"  Ah,  Brimberly,"  he  sighed  gently,  "  making  a  night 
of  it?" 

"  Why,  sir,"  bowed  his  butler,  "  indeed,  sir  —  to  tell  the 
truth,  sir  —  " 

"  You  need  n't,  Brimberly.  Excellent  cigars  you  smoke 
—  judging  from  the  smell.  May  I  have  one?  " 

"  Sir,"  said  Brimberly,  his  whiskers  slightly  agitated, 
"  cigars,  sir?  " 

"  In  the  cabinet,  I  think,"  and  Mr.  Ravenslee  motioned 
feebly  with  one  white  hand  towards  the  tall,  carved  cabinet 
in  an  adjacent  corner. 

Mr.  Brimberly  coughed  softly  behind  plump  fingers. 

"The  —  the  key,  sir?"  he  suggested. 

"  Oh,  not  at  all  necessary,  Brimberly ;  the  lock  is 
faulty,  you  know." 

"Sir?"  said  Brimberly,  soothing  a  twitching  whisker. 

"  If  you  are  familiar  with  the  life  of  the  Fourteenth 
Louis,  Brimberly,  you  will  remember  that  the  Grand  Mon 
arch  hated  to  be  kept  waiting  —  so  do  I.  A  cigar  —  in 
the  cabinet  yonder." 

With  his  whiskers  in  a  high  state  of  agitation,  Mr. 
Brimberly  laid  by  the  garments  he  held  clutched  in  one 


io  The  Definite  Object 

arm  and  coming  to  the  cabinet,  opened  it,  and  taking 
thence  a  box  of  cigars,  very  much  at  random,  came  back, 
carrying  it  rather  as  though  it  were  a  box  of  highly  dan 
gerous  explosives,  and  setting  it  at  his  master's  elbow, 
struck  a  match. 

As  Mr.  Brimberly  watched  his  master  select  and  light 
his  cigar,  it  chanced  that  Young  R.  raised  his  eyes  and 
looked  at  him,  and  to  be  sure  those  eyes  were  surprisingly 
piercing  and  quick  for  one  so  very  languid.  Indeed,  Mr. 
Brimberly  seemed  to  think  so,  for  he  coughed  again,  faint 
and  discreetly,  behind  his  hand,  while  his  whiskers  quivered 
slightly,  though  perceptibly. 

"  You  're  'ome  quite  —  quite  unexpected,  sir !  " 

"  Brimberly,  I  'm  afraid  I  am,  but  I  hope  I  don't 
intrude?  " 

"  Intrude,  sir !  "  repeated  Mr.  Brimberly.  "  Oh,  very 
facetious,  sir,  very  facetious  indeed !  "  and  he  laughed, 
deferentially  and  soft. 

"  I  blew  the  horn,  but  I  see  he  left  his  hat  behind  him !  " 
sighed  Young  R.,  nodding  languidly  toward  the  headgear 
of  Mr.  Stevens,  which  had  fallen  beneath  a  chair  and  thus 
escaped  notice. 

"  Why,  I  —  indeed,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brimberly,  stooping 
to  make  a  fierce  clutch  at  it,  "  I  took  the  liberty  of  show 
ing  a  friend  of  mine  your  —  your  picters,  sir  —  no  of 
fence,  I  'ope,  sir?  " 

"  Friend?  "  murmured  his  master. 

"  Name  of  Stevens,  sir,  valet  to  Lord  Barberton  —  a 
most  sooperior  person  indeed,  sir!  " 

"  Barberton?     I  don't  agree  with  you,  Brimberly." 

"Stevens,  sir!" 

"  Ah !    And  you  showed  him  my  —  pictures,  did  you?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  did  take  that  liberty  —  no  offence,  sir, 
I  —  " 

"Hum!     Did  he  like  'em?" 

"  Like  them,  sir !  'E  were  fair  overpowered,  sir ! 
Brandy  and  soda,  sir?  " 

"  Thanks  !     Did  he  like  that,  too?  " 


A  Mournful  Millionaire          1 1 

"Why,  sir —  I  —  indeed  —  " 

"  Oh,  never  mind  —  to-night  is  an  occasion,  anyway  — 
just  a  splash  of  soda!  Yes,  Brimberly,  when  the  clocks 
strike  midnight  I  shall  be  thirty-five  years  old  —  " 

"  Indeed,  sir !  "  exclaimed  Brimberly,  clasping  his  plump 
hands  softly  and  bowing,  "  then  allow  me  to  wish  you 
many,  many  'appy  returns,  sir,  with  continued  'ealth, 
wealth,  and  all  'appiness,  sir !  " 

"Happiness?"  repeated  Young  R.,  and  smiled  quite 
bitterly,  as  only  the  truly  young  can  smile.  "  Happi 
ness  !  "  said  he  again,  "  thank  you,  Brimberly  —  now  take 
your  friend  his  hat,  and  have  the  extreme  goodness  to 
make  up  the  fire  for  me.  I  love  a  fire,  as  you  know,  but 
especially  when  I  am  mournful.  And  pray  —  hurry, 
Brimberly !  " 

Forthwith  Mr.  Brimberly  bowed  and  bustled  out,  but 
very  soon  bustled  in  again;  and  now,  as  he  stooped, 
menial-like,  to  ply  the  coal  tongs,  though  his  domelike 
brow  preserved  all  its  wonted  serenity,  no  words  could 
possibly  express  all  the  mute  rebellion  of  those  eloquent 
whiskers. 

"  Hanything  more,  sir?  "  he  enquired,  as  he  rose  from 
his  knees. 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Young  R.,  glancing  up  at  him,  and 
beneath  the  quizzical  look  in  those  sleepy  grey  eyes,  Mr. 
Brimberly's  whiskers  wilted  slightly.  "  You  're  getting  a 
trifle  too  —  er  —  portly  to  hop  round  on  your  knees, 
are  n't  you,  Brimberly?  Pray  sit  down  and  talk  to  me." 

Mr.  Brimberly  bowed  and  took  a  chair,  sitting  very 
upright  and  attentive  while  his  master  frowned  into  the 
fire. 

"  Thirty-five  is  a  ripe  age,  Brimberly ! "  said  he  at 
last ;  "  a  man  should  have  made  something  of  his  life  — 
at  thirty-five !  " 

"  Certingly,  sir !  " 

"  And  I  'm  getting  quite  into  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf, 
am  I  not,  Brimberly?  " 

Mr.  Brimberly  raised  a  plump,  protesting  hand. 


12  The  Definite  Object 

"  'Ardly  that,  sir,  'ardly  that !  "  said  he,  "  we  are  hall 
of  us  getting  on,  of  course  —  " 

"Where  to,  Brimberly?  On  where,  Brimberly  —  on 
what?  " 

"  Why,  sir,  since  you  ask  me,  I  should  answer  —  beg 
ging  your  parding  —  'eavens  knows,  sir !  " 

"  Precisely !     Anyway,  I  'm  going  there  fast." 

"Where,  sir?" 

"  Heaven  knows,  Brimberly." 

"  Ah  —  er  —  certingly,  sir !  " 

"  Now,  Brimberly,  as  a  hard-headed,  matter-of-fact, 
common-sense  being,  what  would  you  suggest  for  a  poor 
devil  who  is  sick  and  tired  of  everything  and  most  of  all 
—  of  himself?  " 

"  Why,  sir,  I  should  prescribe  for  that  man  change  of 
hair,  sir  —  travel,  sir.  I  should  suggest  to  that  man 
Hafghanistan  or  Hasia  Minor,  or  both,  sir.  There 's 
your  noo  yacht  a-laying  in  the  river,  sir  —  " 

His  master  leant  his  square  chin  upon  his  square  fist  and 
still  frowning  at  the  fire,  gently  shook  his  head. 

"  My  good  Brimberly,"  he  sighed,  "  have  n't  I  trav 
elled  in  most  parts  of  the  world?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  sir,  you  've  travelled,  sir,  very  much  so 
indeed,  sir  —  you  've  shot  lions  and  tigers  and  a  helephant 
or  so,  and  exchanged  sentiments  with  raging  'eathen  —  as 
rage  in  nothing  but  a  string  o'  beads  —  but  what  about 
your  noomerous  possessions  in  Europe,  sir?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,"  nodded  Young  R.,  "  I  do  possess  some  shan 
ties  and  things  over  there,  don't  I,  Brimberly?  " 

"  Shanties,  sir !  "  Mr.  Brimberly  blinked,  and  his  whis 
kers  bristled  in  horrified  reproof.  "  Shanties !  —  Oh,  dear 
me,  sir !  "  he  murmured.  "  Shanties  —  your  magnificent 
town  mansion  situate  in  Saint  James's  Square,  London, 
as  your  respected  father  hacquired  from  a  royal  dook, 
sir !  Shanties  !  —  your  costly  and  helegant  res-eye-dence 
in  Park  Lane,  sir !  " 

"  Hum !  "  said  Young  R.  moodily. 

"  Then,  in  Scotland,  sir,  we  'ave  your  castle  of  Drum- 


A  Mournful  Millionaire          13 

lochie,  sir  —  rocks,  turrets,  battlements,  'ighly  grim  and 
romantic,  sir !  " 

"  Ha !  "  sighed  his  young  master,  frowning  at  his  cigar. 

"  Next,  sir,  —  in  Italy  we  find  your  ancient  Roman 
villa,  sir  —  halabaster  pillows  and  columns,  sir  —  very 
historical  though  a  trifle  wore  with  wars  and  centuries  of 
centoorians,  sir,  wherefore  I  would  humbly  suggest  a  coat 
or  two  of  paint,  sir,  applied  beneath  your  very  own 
eye,  sir  —  " 

"  No,  Brimberly,"  murmured  Young  R.,  "  paint  might 
have  attractions  —  Italy,  none !  " 

"  Certingly  not,  sir,  cer-tingly  not !  Which  brings  us 
to  your  schloss  in  Germany,  sir  —  " 

"  Nor  Germany !  Lord,  Brimberly,  are  there  many 
more?  " 

"  Ho,  yes,  sir,  plenty !  "  nodded  Mr.  Brimberly,  "  your 
late  honoured  and  respected  father,  sir,  were  a  rare  'and 
at  buying  palaces,  sir ;  'e  collected  'em,  as  you  might  say, 
like  some  folks  collects  postage  starmps,  sir !  " 

"  And  a  collection  of  the  one  is  about  as  useless  as  a 
collection  of  the  other,  Brimberly !  " 

"  Why,  true,  sir,  one  man  can't  live  in  a  dozen  places 
all  at  once,  but  why  not  work  round  'em  in  turn,  beginning, 
say,  at  your  imposing  Venetian  palazzo  —  canals,  sir,  gon- 
doleers  —  picturesque  though  dampish?  Or  your  shally 
in  the  Tyro-leen  Halps,  sir,  or  —  " 

"  Brimberly,  have  the  goodness  to  —  er  —  shut  up !  " 

"Certingly,  sir." 

"  To-day  is  my  birthday,  Brimberly,  and  to-night  I  've 
reached  a  kind  of  *  jumping  off  '  place  in  my  life,  and  — 
between  you  and  me  —  I  'm  seriously  thinking  of  —  er  — 
jumping  off!  " 

"  I  crave  parding,  sir?  " 

"  I  'm  thirty-five  years  old,"  continued  Young  R.,  his 
frown  growing  blacker,  "  and  I  've  never  done  anything 
really  worth  while  in  all  my  useless  life !  Have  the  good 
ness  to  look  at  me,  will  you?  " 

"  With  pleasure,  sir !  " 


14  The  Definite  Object 

"  Well,  what  do  I  look  like?  " 

"  The  very  hacme  of  a  gentleman,  sir !  " 

"  Kind  of  you,  Brimberly,  but  I  know  myself  for  an 
absolutely  useless  thing  —  a  purposeless,  ambitionless 
wretch,  drifting  on  to  God  knows  what.  I  'm  a  hopeless 
wreck,  a  moral  derelict,  and  it  has  only  occurred  to  me 
to-night  —  but  "  —  and  here  the  speaker  paused  to  flick 
the  ash  from  his  cigar  —  "I  fear  I  'm  boring  you  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  —  ho,  no,  not  at  all,  indeed,  sir !  " 

"  You  're  very  kind,  Brimberly  —  light  a  cigarette ! 
Ah,  no,  pardon  me,  you  prefer  my  cigars,  I  know." 

"  Why  —  why,  sir  —  "  stammered  Mr.  Brimberly,  lay 
ing  a  soothing  hand  upon  his  twitching  whisker,  "  indeed, 
I  — I  —  " 

"  Oh  —  help  yourself,  pray !  " 

Hereupon  Mr.  Brimberly  took  a  cigar  very  much  at 
random,  and,  while  Young  R.  watched  with  lazy  interest, 
proceeded  to  cut  it  —  though  with  singularly  clumsy 
fingers. 

"  A  light,  Mr.  Brimberly  —  allow  me !  " 

So  Ravenslee  held  the  light  while  Mr.  Brimberly  puffed 
his  cigar  to  a  glow,  though  to  be  sure  he  coughed  once  and 
choked,  as  he  met  Young  R.'s  calm  grey  eye. 

"  Now,"  pursued  his  master,  "  if  you  're  quite  comfort 
able,  Mr.  Brimberly,  perhaps  you  '11  be  good  enough  to 

—  er  —  hearken  further  to  my  tale  of  woe?  " 

Mr.  Brimberly  choked  again  and  recovering,  smoothed 
his  writhing  whiskers  and  murmured :  "  It  would  be  a 
honour ! " 

"  First,  then,  Brimberly,  have  you  ever  hated  yourself 

—  I  mean,  despised  yourself  so  utterly  and  thoroughly 
that  the  bare  idea  of  your  existence  makes  you  angry  and 
indignant?  " 

"  Why  —  no,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Brimberly,  staring, 
"  I  can't  say  as  I  'ave,  sir." 

"  No,"  said  his  master  with  another  keen  glance,  "  and 
I  don't  suppose  you  ever  will !  "  Now  here  again,  per 
haps  because  of  the  look  or  something  in  Young  R.'s  tone, 


A  Mournful  Millionaire          1 5 

Mr.  Brimberly  took  occasion  to  emit  a  small,  apologetic 
cough. 

"  You  have  never  felt  yourself  to  be  a  —  cumberer  of 
the  earth,  Brimberly?  " 

Mr.  Brimberly,  having  thought  the  matter  over,  de 
cided  that  he  had  not. 

"You  are  not  given  to  introspection,  Brimberly?  " 

"  Intro  —  ahem !  No,  sir,  not  precisely  —  'ardly  that, 
sir,  and  then  only  very  occasional,  sir !  " 

"  Then  you  've  never  got  on  to  yourself  —  got  wise  to 
yourself  —  seen  yourself  as  you  really  are?  " 

Mr.  Brimberly  goggled  and  groped  for  his  whisker. 

"  I  mean,"  pursued  his  master,  "  you  have  never  seen  all 
your  secret  weaknesses  and  petty  meannesses  stripped 
stark  naked,  have  you?  " 

"  N-naked,  sir !  "  faltered  Mr.  Brimberly,  "  very  dis 
tressing  indeed,  sir  —  oh,  dear  me !  " 

"  It 's  a  devilish  unpleasant  thing,"  continued  Young 
R.,  scowling  at  the  fire  again,  "  yes,  it 's  a  devilish  un 
pleasant  thing  to  go  serenely  on  our  flowery  way,  pitying 
and  condemning  the  sins  and  follies  of  others  and  sub 
limely  unconscious  of  our  own  until  one  day  —  ah,  yes  — 
one  day  we  meet  Ourselves  face  to  face  and  see  beneath 
all  our  pitiful  shams  and  hypocrisies  and  know  ourselves  at 
last  for  what  we  really  are  —  behold  the  decay  of  faculties, 
the  degeneration  of  intellect  bred  of  sloth  and  inanition 
and  know  ourselves  at  last  —  for  exactly  what  we  are !  " 

Mr.  Brimberly  stared  at  the  preoccupation  of  his  mas 
ter's  scowling  brow  and  grim-set  mouth,  and,  clutching 
a  soft  handful  of  whisker,  murmured :  "  Certingly,  sir !  " 

"  When  I  was  a  boy,"  continued  Ravenslee  absently,  "  I 
used  to  dream  of  the  wonderful  things  I  would  do  when  I 
was  a  man  —  by  the  way,  you  're  quite  sure  I  'm  not  bor 
ing  you  —  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  —  certingly  not,  sir  —  indeed,  sir !  " 

"  Take  another  cigar,  Brimberly  —  oh,  put  it  in  your 
pocket,  it  will  do  to  —  er  —  to  add  to  your  collection ! 
But,  as  I  was  saying,  as  a  boy  I  was  full  of  a  godlike  am- 


1 6  The  Definite  Object 

bition  —  but,  as  I  grew  up,  ambition  and  all  the  noble 
things  it  leads  to,  sickened  and  died  —  died  of  a  surfeit  of 
dollars!  And  to-day  I  am  thirty-five  and  feel  that  I 
can't  —  that  I  never  shall  —  do  anything  worth  while  —  " 

"  But,  sir,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Brimberly  with  a  bland  and 
reassuring  smile,  "  you  are  one  as  don't  have  to  do  noth 
ing  —  you  're  rich !  " 

Mr.  Ravenslee  started. 

"  Rich !  "  he  cried,  and  turning,  he  glanced  at  Mr.  Brim 
berly,  and  his  square  chin  looked  so  very  square  and  his 
grey  eyes  so  very  piercing  that  Mr.  Brimberly,  loosing 
his  whisker,  coughed  again  and  shifted  his  gaze  to  the  Per 
sian  rug  beneath  his  feet;  yet  when  Young  R.  spoke 
again,  his  voice  was  very  soft  and  sleepy. 

"  Rich!  "  he  repeated,  "  yes,  that 's  just  the  unspeak 
able  hell  of  it  —  it 's  money  that  has  crippled  all  endeav 
ours  and  made  me  what  I  am !  Rich  ?  I  'm  so  rich  that 
my  friends  are  all  acquaintances  —  so  rich  that  I  might 
buy  anything  in  the  world  except  what  I  most  desire  —  so 
rich  that  I  am  tired  of  life,  the  world,  and  everything  in 
the  world,  and  have  been  seriously  considering  a  —  er  —  a 
radical  change.  It  is  a  comfort  to  know  that  we  may  all 
of  us  find  oblivion  when  we  so  desire." 

"  Oblivion !  "  nodded  Mr.  Brimberly,  mouthing  the  word 
sonorously,  "  oblivion,  sir,  certingly  —  my  own  sentiments 
exactly,  sir  —  for,  though  not  being  a  marrying  man  my 
self,  sir,  I  regard  it  with  a  truly  reverent  heye  and  'umbly 
suggest  that  for  you  such  a  oblivious  change  would  be  —  " 

"  Brimberly,"  said  Young  R.,  turning  to  stare  in  lazy 
wonder,  "  where  in  the  world  are  you  getting  to  now?  " 

Mr.  Brimberly  coughed  and  touched  a  whisker  with 
dubious  finger. 

"  Was  n't  you  allooding  to  —  hem  !  —  to  matrimony, 
sir?" 

"  Matrimony !  Lord,  no !  Hardly  so  desperate  a  course 
as  that,  Brimberly.  I  was  considering  the  advisability  of 
—  er  —  this  !  "  And  opening  a  drawer  in  the  escritoire, 
Young  R.  held  up  a  revolver,  whereat  Mr.  Brimberly's 


A  Mournful  Millionaire          17 

whiskers  showed  immediate  signs  of  extreme  agitation,  and 
he  started  to  his  feet. 

"  Mr.  Ravenslee,  sir  —  for  the  love  o'  Gawd !  "  he  ex 
claimed,  "  if  it 's  a  choice  between  the  two  —  try  matri 
mony  first,  it 's  so  much  —  so  much  wholesomer,  sir !  " 

"  Is  it,  Brimberly?  Let  me  see,  there  are  about  five 
hundred  highly  dignified  matrons  in  this  —  er  —  great 
city,  wholly  eager  and  anxious  to  wed  their  daughters  to 
my  dollars  (and  incidentally  myself)  even  if  I  were  the 
vilest  knave  or  most  pitiful  piece  of  doddering  antiquity 

—  faugh !    Let 's  hear  no  more  of  matrimony." 
"  Certingly  not,  sir !  "  bowed  Mr.  Brimberly. 

"  And  I  'm  neither  mad,  Brimberly,  nor  drunk,  only  — 
speaking  colloquially  —  I  'm  'on  to  '  myself  at  last.  If 
my  father  had  only  left  me  fewer  millions,  I  might  have 
been  quite  a  hard-working,  useful  member  of  society, 
for  there  's  good  in  me,  Brimberly.  I  am  occasionally 
aware  of  quite  noble  impulses,  but  they  need  some  object  to 
bring  'em  out.  An  object  —  hum !  "  Here  Mr.  Ravenslee 
put  away  the  revolver.  "  An  object  to  work  for,  live  for, 
be  worthy  of !  "  Here  he  fell  to  frowning  into  the  fire 
again  and  stared  thus  so  long  that  at  last  Mr.  Brimberly 
felt  impelled  to  say : 

"  A  hob  j  ect,  of  course,  sir !  A  hobj  ect  —  certingly , 
sir !  "  But  here  he  started  and  turned  to  stare  toward  the 
windows  as  from  the  darkness  beyond  two  voices  were  up 
lifted  in  song;  two  voices  these  which  sang  the  same  tune 
and  words  but  in  two  different  keys,  uncertain  voices,  now 
shooting  up  into  heights,  now  dropping  into  unplumbable 
deeps,  two  shaky  voices  whose  inconsequent  quaverings 
suggested  four  legs  in  much  the  same  condition. 

"  Brimberly,"  sighed  his  master,  "  what  doleful  wretches 
have  we  here?  " 

"  Why,  sir,  I  —  I  rather  fancy  it 's  William  and  James 

—  the    footmen,   sir,"   answered   Mr.   Brimberly   between 
bristling  whiskers.    "  Hexcuse  me,  sir  —  I  '11  go  and  speak 
to  'em,  sir  —  " 

"  Oh,  pray  don't  trouble  yourself,  Mr.  Brimberly ;    sit 


1 8  The  Definite  Object 

down  and  hearken !  These  sad  sounds  are  inspired  by  deep 
potations  —  beer,  I  fancy.  Be  seated,  Mr.  Brimberly." 
Mr.  Brimberly  obeyed,  and  being  much  agitated 
dropped  his  cigar  and  grovelled  for  it,  and  it  was  to  be 
noted  thereafter  that  as  the  singers  drew  nearer,  he  shuffled 
on  his  chair  with  whiskers  violently  a-twitch,  while  his 
eyes  goggled  more  and  his  domelike  brow  grew  ever 
moister.  But  on  came  the  singing  footmen  and  passed 
full-tongued,  wailing  out  each  word  with  due  effect,  thus : 

"  —  my  sweet  'eart  's  —  me  mother 
The  best  —  the  dearest  —  of  —  'em  all." 

"  Hum !  "  murmured  Young  R.,  "I  admire  the  senti 
ment,  Brimberly,  but  the  execution  leaves  something  to  be 
desired,  perhaps  —  " 

"  If  you  '11  only  let  me  go  out  to  'em,  sir !  "  groaned 
Mr.  Brimberly,  mopping  himself  with  a  very  large,  exceed 
ing  white  handkerchief,  "  if  you  honly  will,  sir !  " 

"  No,  Brimberly,  no  —  it  would  only  distress  you,  be 
sides  —  hark !  their  song  is  ended,  and  rather  abruptly  — 
I  rather  fancy  they  have  fallen  down  the  terrace  steps." 

"  And  I  'opes,"  murmured  Mr.  Brimberly  fervently, 
"  I  do  'ope  as  they  've  broke  their  necks !  " 

"  Of  course  I  ought  to  have  gone  out  and  switched  on 
the  lights  for  them,"  sighed  Young  R.,  "  but  then,  you 
see,  I  thought  they  were  safe  in  bed,  Brimberly !  " 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brimberly,  mopping  furiously, 
"  I  —  I  ventured  to  give  'em  a  hour's  leave  of  habsence, 
sir;  I  ventured  so  to  do,  sir,  because,  sir  —  " 

"  Because  you  are  of  rather  a  venturesome  nature, 
are  n't  you,  Brimberly?  " 

"  No  offence,  sir,  I  'ope?  " 

"  None  at  all,  Mr.  Brimberly  —  pray  calm  yourself  and 
—  er  —  take  a  little  brandy." 

"Sir?" 

"  Your  glass  is  under  the  chair  yonder,  or  is  it  your 
friend's?" 

Mr.  Brimberly  goggled  toward  Mr.  Stevens'  betraying 


A  Mournful  Millionaire          19 

glass,  picked  it  up,  and  sat  staring  at  it  in  vague  and 
dreamy  fashion  until,  rousing  at  his  master's  second  bid 
ding,  he  proceeded  to  mix  brandy  and  soda,  his  gaze  still 
profoundly  abstracted  and  his  whiskers  drooping  with  an 
abnormal  meekness. 

At  this  juncture  a  knock  sounded  at  the  door,  and  a 
chauffeur  appeared,  looking  very  smart  in  his  elegant 
livery ;  a  thick-set  man,  mightily  deep  of  chest,  whose  wide 
shoulders  seemed  to  fill  the  doorway,  and  whose  long, 
gorilla-like  arms  ended  in  two  powerful  hands;  his  jaw 
was  squarely  huge,  his  nose  broad  and  thick,  but  beneath 
his  beetling  brows  blinked  two  of  the  mildest  blue  eyes  in 
the  world. 

"What  is  it,  Joe?" 

"  And  what  time  will  ye  be  wantin'  the  car  in  the 
mornin',  sir?  "  he  enquired. 

"  The  morning,  Joe?  Who  can  say  what  may  happen 
between  now  and  then?  " 

"  Shall  I  have  her  round  at  eleven,  sir,  or  —  " 

"  Eleven  will  do  as  well  as  any  other  time  —  let  it  go  at 
that." 

"  You  was  to  see  your  broker,  Mr.  Anderson,  in  the 
morning  over  them  steamship  shares,  sir." 

"  Shares,  Joe,  are  a  vanity ;  all  is  vanity  —  they  weary 
me.  Mr.  Brimberly  yawns,  and  you  look  sleepy  — =•  good 
night,  Joe ;  pleasant  dreams." 

"  Good  night,  sir !  "  and  touching  his  right  eyebrow, 
Joe  went  out,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

"  And  now,"  said  Mr.  Ravenslee,  puffing  languidly  at 
his  cigar,  "  referring  to  the  necessary  object,  there  is  a 
chance  that  it  may  be  found  —  even  yet,  Mr.  Brimberly !  " 

"  Object,  sir,"  murmured  Mr.  Brimberly,  "  found,  sir 
—  to  be  sure,  sir." 

"  Yes ;   I  intend  you  shall  find  it  for  me,  Brimberly." 

Mr.  Brimberly's  abstraction  gave  place  to  sudden 
amaze. 

"Find  it  —  wot,  me,  sir?  Hexcuse  me,  sir,  but  did 
you  say  —  "  Mr.  Brimberly  actually  gaped ! 


2o  The  Definite  Object 

"  You,  Brimberly,  of  course !  " 

"  But  —  but  wot  kind  of  a  hobject  —  and  where,  sir?  " 

"  Really,"  sighed  Young  R.,  "  these  are  quite  fool  ques 
tions  for  one  of  your  hard-headed  common  sense!  If  I 
knew  exactly  '  what '  and  *  where  ',  I  'd  go  and  find  it 
myself  —  at  least,  I  might !  " 

"  But  —  *ow  in  the  world,  sir  —  begging  your  parding 
I  *m  sure,  but  'ow  am  I  to  go  a-finding  hob j  ex  as  I  've 
never  seen  nor  'card  of?  " 

"  Brimberly,  I  pass !  But  if  you  manage  it  in  —  say 
a  week,  I  '11  double  your  wages  and  give  you  a  —  er  —  a 
bonus  into  the  bargain ;  think  it  over." 

"  I  —  I  will,  sir  —  indeed,  sir !  " 

"  Very  well ;    you  may  go." 

"  Certingly,  sir."  Mr.  Brimberly  bowed  and  crossed 
to  the  door  but,  being  there,  paused.  "  Double  me 
wages  I  think  it  were,  sir,  and  a  bonus?  Very  'andsome, 
very  'andsome  indeed,  sir  —  thank  you,  sir."  Saying 
which,  Mr.  Brimberly  bowed  himself  out,  but  immediately 
bowed  himself  in  again. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  if  you  could  give  me  some  hidea, 
sir—" 

"  Some  what?  " 

"A  few  'ints,  sir,  as  to  the  nature  of  said  hobject  — 
whether  animal,  mineral,  or  nooter,  sir?  " 

"  Well  —  perhaps  *  animal '  might  be  the  more  inter 
esting." 

"  Now  —  as  to  gender,  sir  —  masculine  shall  we  say, 
or  shall  we  make  it  feminine?  " 

"  Oh  —  either  will  do !  And  yet,  since  you  offer  so  wide 
a  selection,  perhaps  —  er  —  feminine  — ?  " 

"  Very  good,  sir !  " 

"  And  you  'd  better  make  it  singular  number,  Brim 
berly." 

"  Certingly,  sir,  much  obliged,  sir !  Will  you  be  want 
ing  me  again,  sir?  " 

"  Not  again,  Brimberly." 

"  Then  good  night,  sir  —  thank  you,  sir !  "     And  Mr* 


A  Mournful  Millionaire          2  i 

Brimberly  went  softly  forth  and  closed  the  door  noiselessly 
behind  him. 

Being  alone,  Mr.  Ravenslee  switched  off  the  lights  and 
sat  in  the  fire-glow. 

"  Feminine  gender,  singular  number,  objective  case, 
governed  by  the  verb  —  to  love  —  I  wonder !  " 

And  he  laughed  a  little  bitterly  (and  very  youthfully) 
as  he  stared  down  into  the  dying  fire. 


CHAPTER  III 

HOW  GEOFFEEY  RAVENSLEE  WENT  SEEKING  AN  OBJECT 

A  CLOCK  in  the  hall  without  struck  midnight,  but  Mr. 
Ravenslee  sat  there  long  after  the  silvery  chime  had  died 
away,  his  chin  sunk  upon  his  broad  chest,  his  sombre 
eyes  staring  blindly  at  the  fading  embers,  lost  in  profound 
and  gloomy  meditation.  But,  all  at  once,  he  started  and 
glanced  swiftly  around  toward  a  certain  window,  the  cur 
tains  of  which  were  only  partly  drawn,  and  his  lounging 
attitude  changed  instantly  to  one  of  watchful  alertness. 

As  he  sat  thus,  broad  shoulders  stooped,  feet  drawn  up 
—  poised  for  swift  action,  he  beheld  a  light  that  flashed 
here  and  there,  that  vanished  and  came  again,  hovering 
up  and  down  and  to  and  fro  outside  the  window;  where 
fore  he  reached  out  a  long  arm  in  the  gloom  and  silently 
opened  a  certain  drawer  in  the  escritoire. 

Came  a  soft  click,  a  faint  creak,  and  a  breath  of  cool, 
fragrant  air  as  the  window  was  cautiously  opened,  and  a 
^shapeless  something  climbed  through,  while  Mr.  Ravenslee 
sat  motionless  —  waiting. 

The  flashing  light  winked  again,  a  small,  bright  disc 
that  hovered  uncertainly  and  finally  steadied  upon  the 
carved  cabinet  in  the  corner,  and  the  Something  crept 
stealthily  thither.  A  long-drawn,  breathless  minute  and 
then  —  the  room  was  flooded  with  brilliant  light,  and  a 
figure,  kneeling  before  the  cabinet,  uttered  a  strangled  cry 
and  leapt  up,  only  to  recoil  before  Mr.  Ravenslee's  levelled 
revolver. 

A  pallid-faced,  willowy  lad,  this,  of  perhaps  seventeen, 
who,  sinking  to  his  knees,  threw  up  an  arm  across  his  face, 
then  raised  both  hands  above  his  head. 


Seeking  an  Object  23 

"  Ah,  don't  shoot,  mister !  "  he  gasped.  "  Oh,  don't 
shoot  —  I  got  me  hands  up  !  " 

"  Stand  up !  "  said  Ravenslee  grimly,  "  up  with  you  and 
shutter  that  window  —  you  may  have  friends  outside,  and 
I  'm  taking  no  chances  !  Quick  —  shutter  that  window, 
I  say." 

The  lad  struggled  to  his  feet  and,  crossing  to  the  win 
dow,  fumbled  the  shutter  into  place,  his  ghastly  face  turn 
ing  and  turning  toward  the  revolver  that  glittered  in  such 
deadly  fashion  in  Mr.  Ravenslee's  steady  hand.  At  length, 
the  shutters  barred,  the  boy  turned,  and  moistening  dry 
lips,  spoke  hoarsely  and  with  apparent  effort. 

"  Oh,  mister  —  don't  go  for  to  —  croak  a  guy  as  —  as 
ain't  done  nothing !  " 

"  You  broke  into  my  house !  " 

"  But  I  —  have  n't  took  nothin' !  " 

"  Because  I  happened  to  catch  you !  " 

"  But  —  but  —  oh,  sir,"  stammered  the  boy,  taking  off 
his  cap  and  fumbling  with  it  while  he  stared  wide-eyed  at 
the  threatening  revolver,  "I  —  I  ain't  a  real  thief  — 
cross  me  heart  and  hope  to  die,  I  ain't !  Don't  croak  me, 
sir!" 

"  But  why  in  the  world  not  ?  "  enquired  Mr.  Ravenslee. 
"  Alone  and  unaided  I  have  captured  a  desperate  criminal, 
a  bloodthirsty  villain  —  caught  him  in  the  very  act  of 
burgling  a  cabinet  where  I  keep  my  cigars  of  price  —  and 
Mr.  Brimberly's,  of  course !  Consequently  to  —  er  — 
croak  you  is  my  privilege  as  a  citizen ;  it 's  all  quite 
just  and  proper  —  really,  I  ought  to  croak  you,  you 
know." 

"  I  —  ain't  desprit,  mister,"  the  boy  pleaded,  "  I  ain't 
a  reg'lar  crook ;  dis  is  me  first  try-out  —  honest  it  is  !  " 

"  But  then  I  prefer  to  regard  you  as  a  deep-dyed  des 
perado  —  you  must  be  quite  —  er  —  sixteen !  Conse 
quently  it  is  my  duty  to  croak  you  on  the  spot,  or  hand 
you  over  to  the  police  —  " 

"  No,  no !  "  cried  the  boy,  his  tremulous  hands  reached 
out  in  a  passion  of  supplication,  "  not  d'  cops  —  don't  let 


24  The  Definite  Object 

th'  p'lice  get  me.  Oh,  I  never  took  nothin'  from  nobody 
—  lemme  go  !  Be  a  sport  and  let  me  beat  it,  please,  sir !  " 

All  Mr.  Ravenslee's  chronic  languor  seemed  to  have  re 
turned  as,  leaning  back  in  the  deep-cushioned  chair,  he 
regarded  this  youthful  malefactor  with  sleepy  eyes,  yet 
eyes  that  missed  nothing  of  the  boy's  quivering  earnest 
ness  as  he  continued,  breathlessly : 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  a  real  crook,  I  never  done  nothin'  like  this 
before,  an'  I  never  will  again  if  —  if  you  '11  only  let  me 
chase  meself  —  " 

"  And  now,"  sighed  Mr.  Ravenslee,  "  I  '11  trouble  you 
for  the  'phone,  yonder." 

"  Are  ye  goin'  to  —  call  in  de  cops  ?  " 

"  That  is  my  intention.     Give  me  the  'phone." 

"  No !  "  cried  the  boy,  and  springing  before  the  tele 
phone  he  stood  there,  trembling  but  defiant. 

"  Give  me  that  telephone !  " 

"  Not  much  I  won't !  " 

"  Then  of  course  I  must  shoot  you !  " 

The  boy  stood  with  head  up-flung  and  fists  tight- 
clenched  ;  Mr.  Ravenslee  lounged  in  his  chair  with  levelled 
pistol.  So  they  fronted  each  other  —  but,  all  at  once, 
with  a  sound  between  a  choke  and  a  groan,  the  lad  covered 
his  face. 

"  Go  on !  "  he  whispered  hoarsely,  "  go  on  —  what 's 
keepin'  you?  If  it 's  the  cops  or  croaking,  I  —  I  'd  rather 
croak." 

"Why?" 

"  'Cause  if  I  was  ever  sent  to  —  prison  —  it  'ud  break 
her  heart,  I  guess." 

"  Her  heart?"  said  Mr.  Ravenslee,  and  lowered  the  pistol. 

"  Me  sister's." 

"  Ah  —  so  you  have  a  sister?  "  and  Mr.  Ravenslee  sat 
up  suddenly. 

"  Lots  o'  guys  has,  but  there  ain't  a  sister  like  mine  in 
all  N'  York  —  nor  nowheres  else." 

"  Who  are  you?     What 's  your  name?  " 

"  Spike.     Me  real  name  's  Arthur,  but  Arthur  sounds 


Seeking  an  Object  25 


kinder  soft  an'  sissy;   nobody  don't  call  me  Arthur  'cept 
her,  an'  I  don't  mind  her." 

"  And  what 's  her  name?  " 

"  Hermy  —  Hermione,  sir." 

"  Hermione  —  why,  that 's  Greek !  It 's  a  very  beauti 
ful  name !  " 

"  Kind  of  fits  her  too !  "  nodded  Spike,  warming  to  his 
theme.  "  Hermy  's  ace-high  on  the  face  and  figure  ques 
tion  !  Why,  there  ain't  a  swell  dame  on  Fift'  Av'ner,  nor 
nowheres  else,  got  anything  on  Hermy  as  a  looker !  " 

"  And  what  of  your  father  and  mother?  " 

"  Ain't  got  none  —  don't  remember  having  none  — 
don't  want  none ;  Hermy  's  good  'miff  for  me." 

"  Good  to  you,  is  she?  "  enquired  Mr.  Ravenslee. 

"  Good  t'  me !  "  cried  Spike,  "  good?  Well,  say  —  when 
I  think  about  it  I  —  I  gets  watery  in  me  lamps,  kinder 
sloppy  in  me  talk,  an'  all  mushy  inside!  Good  t'  me? 
Well,  you  can  just  bet  on  that!  " 

"  And,"  enquired  Mr.  Ravenslee  sleepily,  "  are  you  as 
good  to  her?  " 

Hereupon  Spike  turned  his  cap  inside  out  and  looked 
at  it  thoughtfully.  "  I  —  I  dunno,  mister." 

"  Ah !    perhaps  you  —  make  her  cry,  sometimes  ?  " 

Hereupon  Spike  began  to  pick  at  the  lining  of  his  cap 
and  finally  answered :  "  Sometimes,  I  guess." 

"  Would  she  cry  if  she  could  see  you  now,  I  wonder?  " 

Hereupon  Spike  began  to  wring  and  twist  his  cap  in  . 
nervous  hands  ere  he  answered:    "I  —  I  guess  she  might, 
perhaps." 

"  She  must  love  you  a  good  deal." 

At  this,  Spike  twisted  his  cap  into  a  ball  but  spoke 
nothing;  seeing  which  Mr.  Ravenslee  proceeded. 

"  You  are  luckier  than  I ;  there  is  n't  a  soul  in  the 
world  to  do  as  much  for  me." 

Spike  gulped  audibly  and,  thereafter,  sniffed. 

"  Now  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Ravenslee,  "  let  us  suppose 
she  found  out  that  the  brother  she  loved  so  much  was  a 
—  thief?" 


26  The  Definite  Object 

Hereupon  Spike  unrolled  his  cap  and  proceeded  to  rub 
his  eyes  with  it,  and,  when  at  last  he  spoke,  it  was  in  a 
voice  broken  by  great  sobs. 

"  Say  —  cut  it  out  —  cut  it  out !  I  never  meant  to  — 
to  do  it.  They  got  me  soused  —  doped  me,  I  think,  else 
I  'd  never  have  done  it.  I  ain't  good,  but  I  ain't  so  rotten 
bad  as  —  what  I  seem.  I  ain't  no  real  crook,  but  if  you 
wanter  croak  me  for  what  I  done  —  go  ahead !  Only  don't 
—  don't  let  d'  cops  get  me,  'cause  o'  Hermy.  If  you 
croak  me,  she  '11  think  I  got  it  in  a  scrap,  maybe ;  so  if 
you  wanter  plug  me,  go  ahead !  " 

"  But  what  are  you  shivering  for?  " 

"  I  —  I  'm  just  waitin',  sir,"  answered  Spike,  closing 
his  eyes,  "I  —  I  seen  a  guy  shot  once !  " 

Mr.  Ravenslee  sighed  and  nodded. 

"  After  all,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  think  I  '11  croak  you," 
and  he  slipped  the  revolver  into  his  pocket  while  Spike 
watched  him  in  sudden  tense  eagerness. 

"  What  yer  mean  to  do  wi'  me?  "  he  asked. 

"  That 's  the  question ;  what  shall  I  do  with  you  ?  Let 
me  think." 

"  Say,"  cried  the  boy  eagerly,  "  you  don't  have  to  do 
no  thinkin'  —  leave  it  all  to  me !  It 's  de  winder  for  mine ; 
I  11  chase  meself  quick  —  " 

"  No  you  don't !     Sit  down  —  sit  down,  I  say !  " 

Spike  sighed  and  seated  himself  on  the  extreme  edge 
of  the  chair  his  captor  indicated. 

"  Won't  yer  lemme  beat  it,  sir?  "  he  pleaded. 

"  No,  some  one  else  might  catch  you  next  time  and  have 
the  pleasure  of  —  er  —  croaking  you  or  handing  you  over 
to  the  police  —  " 

"  There  won't  be  no  next  time,  sir ! "  cried  Spike 
eagerly.  "  I  '11  never  do  it  no  more  —  I  '11  cut  d'  whole 
gang,  I  '11  give  Bud  M'Ginnis  d'  throw-down  —  on  d' 
dead  level  I  will,  if  you  '11  only  let  me  —  " 

"Who's  Bud  M'Ginnis?" 

"  Say,"  exclaimed  the  boy,  staring,  "  don't  yer  know 
that?  Why,  Bud  's  d'  main  squeeze  with  d'  gang,  d'  whole 


Seeking  an  Object  27 

cheese,  he  is  —  an'  he  kind  o'  thinks  I  'm  d'  candy-kid 
'cause  he  's  stuck  on  me  sister  —  " 

"  Ah !  "  nodded  Mr.  Ravenslee,  frowning  a  little,  "  and 
is  she  —  er  —  stuck  on  him  ?  " 

"  Not  so  as  you  could  notice  it,  she  ain't !  No,  she 
can't  see  Bud  with  a  pair  of  opry-glasses,  an'  he  's  a 
dead  game  sport,  too!  Oh,  there  ain't  no  flies  on  Bud, 
an'  nobody  can  lick  him,  either;  but  Hermy  don't  cotton 
none,  she  has  n't  got  no  use  for  him,  see?  But  say  —  " 
Spike  rose  tentatively  and  looked  on  his  captor  with  eyes 
big  and  supplicating. 

"Well,  what  now?" 

"  Why,  I  thought  if  you  was  tired  of  me  chewing  d*  rag 
and  wanted  to  hit  the  feathers,  I  'd  just  cop  a  sneak. 
See,  if  you  '11  only  lemme  go,  I  '11  do  d'  square  thing  and 
get  a  steady  job  like  Hermy  wants  me  to  —  honest,  I 
will,  sir !  Y'  see,  me  sister  's  away  to-night  —  she  does 
needleworks  for  swell  folks  an'  stops  with  'em  sometimes 
—  so  if  you  '11  only  let  me  beat  it,  I  can  skin  back  an' 
she  '11  never  know !  Ah !  —  lemme  go,  sir !  " 

"  Well  then,"  sighed  Mr.  Ravenslee,  "  for  her  sake  I 
will  let  you  go  —  wait !  I  '11  let  you  go  and  never  speak 
of  your  —  er  —  little  escapade  here,  if  you  will  take  me 
with  you." 

Now  at  this,  Spike  gaped  and  fell  back  a  step. 

"Go  wi'  me  —  wi'  me?"  he  stammered.  "You — go 
wi'  me  to  Hell's  "Kitchen  —  to  Mulligan's  Dump  —  you ! 
Say,  what  kind  o'  song  and  dance  are  you  giving  me, 
anyway  ?  Aw  —  quit  yer  kiddin',  sir !  " 

"  But  I  mean  it." 

"On  — on  d'  level?" 

"  On  the  level." 

"  Holy  Gee !  "  and  Spike  relapsed  into  wide-eyed,  voice 
less  wonder. 

"  Is  it  a  go  ?  "  enquired  Mr.  Ravenslee. 

"  But  —  but,  say  —  "  stammered  the  boy,  glancing 
from  the  elegant  figure  in  the  chair  around  the  luxurious 
room  and  back  again,  "  but  you  're  a  —  a  —  " 


28  The  Definite  Object 

"  Just  a  poor,  disconsolate,  lonely  —  er  —  guy !  " 

"  What !  "  cried  Spike,  staring  around  him  again,  "  with 
all  this  ?  Oh,  yes,  you  're  homeless  and  starving,  you  are 
—  I  don't  think!" 

"  Is  it  a  go?  " 

"  But  say  —  whatcher  want  to  go  wi'  me  for  ?  What 's 
yer  game?  Put  me  wise." 

"  I  am  filled  with  desire  to  breathe  awhile  the  salubrious 
air  of  Hell's  Kitchen;  will  you  take  me?"  Now  as  he 
spoke,  beholding  the  boy's  staring  amaze,  Mr.  Ravenslee's 
frowning  brows  relaxed,  his  firm,  clean-shaven  lips  quiv 
ered,  and  all  at  once  curved  up  into  a  smile  of  singular 
sweetness  —  a  smile  before  which  the  hopelessness  and 
fear  died  out  of  the  boy's  long-lashed  eyes,  his  whole 
strained  attitude  vanished,  and  he  smiled  also  —  though 
perhaps  a  little  tremulously. 

"  Will  you  take  me,  Spike?  " 

"  You  bet  I  will ! "  exclaimed  the  boy,  his  blue  eyes 
shining,  "  and  I  '11  do  my  best  to  show  you  I  —  I  ain't 
so  bad  as  I  —  as  I  seem  —  an'  we  '11  shake  on  it  if  you 
like."  And  Spike  advanced  with  his  hand  outstretched, 
then  paused,  suddenly  abashed,  and  drooping  his  head, 
turned  away.  "I  —  I  forgot,"  he  muttered,  "  —  I  'm  — 
you  said  I  was  a  —  thief !  " 

"  You  meant  to  be !  "  said  Mr.  Ravenslee,  and  rising, 
he  stretched  himself  and  glanced  at  his  watch. 

"Are  you  coming  wi'  me,  sir?"  enquired  Spike,  re 
garding  Mr.  Ravenslee's  length  and  breadth  with  quick, 
appraising  eyes. 

"  I  surely  am !  " 

"  But  —  but  not  in  them  glad  rags  !  "  and  Spike  pointed 
to  Mr.  Ravenslee's  exquisitely  tailored  garments. 

"  Ah  —  to  be  sure !  "  nodded  their  wearer.  "  We  '11 
soon  fix  that,"  and  he  touched  the  electric  bell. 

"  Say,"  cried  Spike,  starting  forward  in  sudden  terror, 
"you  —  you  ain't  goin'  to  give  me  away?" 

"  No." 

"Cross  your  heart  —  hope  to  die,  you  ain't?" 


Seeking  an  Object  29 

"  Across  my  heart  and  hope  to  die,  I  'm  not  —  and 
there  's  my  hand  on  it,  Spike." 

"  What  ?  "  exclaimed  the  boy,  his  eyes  suspiciously 
bright,  "  d'  you  mean  you  will  shake  —  after  —  after 
what  I  —  " 

"  There  's  my  hand,  Spike !  "  So  their  hands  met  and 
gripped,  the  boy's  hot  and  eagerly  tremulous,  the  man's 
cool  and  steady  and  strong;  then  of  a  sudden  Spike 
choked  and  turning  his  back  brushed  away  his  tears  with 
his  cap.  Also  at  this  moment,  with  a  soft  and  discreet 
knock,  Mr.  Brimberly  opened  the  door  and  bowed  himself 
into  the  room;  his  attitude  was  deferential  as  always,  his 
smile  as  respectful,  but,  beholding  Spike,  his  round  eyes 
grew  rounder  and  his  whiskers  slightly  bristly. 

"  Ah,  Brimberly,"  nodded  his  master,  "  you  are  not  in 
bed  yet  —  good !  " 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Brimberly,  "  I  'm  not  in  bed 
yet,  sir,  but  when  you  rang  I  was  in  the  very  hact,  sir  —  " 

"  First  of  all,"  said  Young  R.,  selecting  a  cigar,  "  let 
me  introduce  you  to  —  er  —  my  friend,  Spike !  " 

Hereupon  Mr.  Brimberly  rolled  his  eyes  in  Spike's 
direction,  glanced  him  over,  touched  either  whisker,  and 
bowed  —  and  lo  !  those  fleecy  whiskers  were  now  eloquent 
of  pompous  dignity,  beholding  which  Spike  shuffled  his 
feet,  averted  his  eyes,  and  twisted  his  cap  into  a  very 
tight  ball  indeed. 

But  now  Brimberly  turned  his  eyes  (and  his  whiskers) 
on  his  master,  who  had  taken  out  his  watch. 

"  Brimberly,"  said  he,  "  it  is  now  very  nearly  two 
o'clock." 

"  Very  late,  sir  —  oh,  very  late,  sir  —  indeed,  I  was  in 
the  very  hact  of  goin'  to  bed,  sir  —  I  'd  even  unbuttoned 
my  waistcoat,  sir,  when  you  rang  —  two  o'clock,  sir  — 
dear  me,  a  most  un-'oly  hour,  sir  —  " 

"  Consequently,  Brimberly,  I  am  thinking  of  taking  a 
little  outing  —  " 

"  Certingly,  sir  —  oh,  certingly !  " 

"  And  I  want  some  other  clothes  —  " 


30  The  Definite  Object 

"  Clothes,  sir  —  yessir.  There  's  the  noo  'arris  tweed, 
sir  —  " 

"  With  holes  in  them,  if  possible,  Brimberly." 

"  'Oles,  sir !  Beg  parding,  sir,  but  did  you  say  'oles, 
sir?  " 

"  Also  patches,  Brimberly,  the  bigger  the  better !  " 

"  Patches  !  Hexcuse  me,  sir,  but  —  patches  !  I  beg 
parding,  but  —  "  Mr.  Brimberly  laid  a  feeble  hand  upon 
a  twitching  whisker. 

"  In  a  word,  Brimberly,"  pursued  his  master,  seating 
himself  upon  the  escritoire  and  swinging  his  leg,  "  I  want 
some  old  clothes,  shabby  clothes  —  moth-eaten,  stained, 
battered,  and  torn.  Also  a  muffler  and  an  old  hat.  Can 
you  find  me  some?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  don't  —  that  is,  yessir,  I  do.  Hexcuse  me, 
sir  —  'arf  a  moment,  sir."  Saying  which,  Mr.  Brimberly 
bowed  and  went  from  the  room  with  one  hand  still  clutch 
ing  his  whisker  very  much  as  though  he  had  taken  him 
self  into  custody  and  were  leading  himself  out. 

"  Say,"  exclaimed  Spike  in  a  hoarse  whisper  and  edg 
ing  nearer  to  Mr.  Ravenslee,  "  who  's  His  Whiskers  —  de 
swell  guy  with  d'  face  trimmings?  " 

"  Why,  since  you  ask,  Spike,  he  is  a  very  worthy  person 
who  devotes  his  life  to  —  er  —  looking  after  my  welfare 
and  —  other  things." 

"  Holy  Gee !  "  exclaimed  Spike,  staring,  "  I  should  have 
thought  you  was  big  'nuff  to  do  that  fer  yourself,  un 
less  —  "  and  here  he  broke  off  suddenly  and  gazed  on 
Mr.  Ravenslee's  long  figure  with  a  new  and  more  particu 
lar  interest. 

"Unless  what?" 

"  Say  —  you  ain't  got  bats  in  your  belfry,  have  you  — 
you  ain't  weak  in  the  think-box,  or  soft  in  the  nut,  are 
ye?" 

"  No  —  at  least  not  more  than  the  average,  I  believe." 

"  I  mean  His  Whiskers  don't  have  to  lead  you  around 
on  a  string  or  watch  out  you  don't  set  fire  to  yourself, 
does  he?  " 


Seeking  an  Object  3  i 

"  Well,  strictly  speaking,  I  can't  say  that  his  duties 
are  quite  so  far-reaching." 

"  Who  are  you,  anyway?  " 

"  Well,  my  names  are  Geoffrey,  Guy,  Eustace,  Hugh- 
son  —  and  —  er  —  a  few  others,  but  these  will  do  to  go 
on  with,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  guess  yes  !  " 

"  You  can  take  your  choice." 

"  Well,  Guy  won't  do  —  no  siree  —  ye  see  every  mutt 's 
a  guy  down  our  way  —  so  I  guess  we  '11  make  it  Geoff. 
But,  say,  if  you  ain't  weak  on  the  think-machinery,  why 
d'  ye  keep  a  guy  like  His  Whiskers  hanging  around  ?  " 

"  Because  he  has  become  a  habit,  Spike  —  and  habits 
cling  —  and  speaking  of  habits  —  here  it  is !  "  Sure 
enough,  at  that  moment  Brimberly's  knuckles  made  them 
selves  discreetly  heard,  and  Brimberly  himself  appeared 
with  divers  garments  across  his  arm,  at  sight  of  which 
Spike  stood  immediately  dumb  in  staring,  awe-struck 
wonder. 

"  Ah,  you  've  got  them,  Brimberly?  " 

"  Yessir !     These  is  the  best  I  can  do,  sir  —  " 

"  Say  rather  —  the  worst !  " 

"  'Ere 's  a  nice,  big  'ole  in  the  coat,  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Brimberly,  unfolding  the  garment  in  question,  "  and  the 
weskit,  sir ;  the  pocket  is  tore,  you  '11  notice,  sir." 

"  Excellent,  Brimberly !  " 

"  As  for  these  trousis,  sir  —  " 

"  They  seem  rather  superior  garments,  I  'm  afraid !  " 
said  Mr.  Ravenslee,  shaking  his  head. 

"  But  you  '11  notice  as  they  're  very  much  wore  round 
the  'eels,  sir." 

"  They  '11  do.     Now  the  hat  and  muffler." 

"  All  'ere,  sir  —  the  'at 's  got  its  brim  broke,  sir." 

"  Could  n't  be  better,  Brimberly !  "  So  saying,  Mr. 
Ravenslee  took  up  the  clothes  and  turned  toward  the 
door.  "  Now  I  '11  trouble  you  to  keep  an  eye  on  —  er  — 
young  America  here  while  I  get  into  these." 

"  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Brimberly,  turning  his  whiskers  full 


32  The  Definite  Object 

upon  Spike,  who  immediately  fell  to  shuffling  and  wring 
ing  at  his  cap.  "  Sir  —  I  will,  certingly,  sir." 

Now  when  the  door  had  shut  after  his  master,  Mr. 
Brimberly  raised  eyes  and  hands  to  the  ceiling  and  shook 
his  head  until  his  whiskers  quivered.  Quoth  he :  "  Hall 
I  arsks  is  —  wot  next !  "  Thereafter  he  lowered  his  eyes 
and  regarded  Spike  as  if  he  had  been  that  basest  of  base 
minions  —  a  boy  in  buttons.  At  last  he  deigned  speech. 

"  And  w'en  did  you  come  in,  pray  ?  " 

"  'Bout  a  hour  ago,  sir,"  answered  Spike,  dropping  his 
cap  in  his  embarrassment. 

"Ah!"  nodded  Mr.  Brimberly,  "about  a  hour  ago  — 
ho !  By  appointment,  I  pre-zoom  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  —  by  a  winder." 

"A  — wot?" 

"  A  winder,  sir." 

"  A  —  winder?  'Eavens  and  earth  —  a  winder  —  ow? 
Where?  Wot  for?  " 

"  Say,  mister,"  said  Spike,  breaking  in  upon  Mr.  Brim- 
berly's  astounded  questioning,  "  is  he  nutty  ?  "  And  he 
jerked  his  thumb  toward  the  door  through  which  Mr. 
Ravenslee  had  gone. 

"  Nutty !  "  said  Mr.  Brimberly,  staring. 

"  Yes  —  I  mean  is  he  batty  ?     Has  he  got  wheels  ?  " 

"  W'eels  ?  "  said  Mr.  Brimberly,  his  eyes  rounder  than 
usual. 

"  Well,  then,  is  he  daffy?  —  off  his  trolley?  " 

"  Off  'is  wot?  "  said  Mr.  Brimberly,  fumbling  for  his 
whisker. 

"  Holy  Gee !  "  exclaimed  Spike,  "  can't  you  understand 
English?  Say,  is  your  brother  as  smart  as  you?  " 

"  The  honly  brother  as  ever  I  'ad  was  a  infant  as  died 
and  —  but  wot  was  you  saying  about  a  winder?" 

"  Nothin' !  " 

"  Come,  speak  up,  you  young  vagabone  —  "  began  Mr. 
Brimberly,  his  whiskers  suddenly  fierce  and  threatening, 
but  just  then,  fortunately  for  Spike,  the  door  swung 
open,  and  Mr.  Ravenslee  entered. 


Seeking  an  Object  33 

And  lo!  what  a  change  was  here!  The  battered  hat, 
the  faded  muffler  and  shabby  clothes  seemed  only  to  show 
off  all  the  hitherto  hidden  strength  and  vigour  of  the 
powerful  limbs  below;  indeed  it  almost  seemed  that  with 
his  elegant  garments  he  had  laid  aside  his  lassitude  also 
and  taken  on  a  new  air  of  resolution,  for  his  eyes  were 
sleepy  no  longer,  and  his  every  gesture  was  lithe  and 
quick.  So  great  was  the  change  that  Spike  stared  speech 
less,  and  Mr.  Brimberly  gaped  with  whiskers  a-droop. 

"  Well,  shall  I  do  ?  "  enquired  Mr.  Ravenslee,  tighten 
ing  his  faded  neckerchief. 

"  Do  ?  "  repeated  Spike,  "  say  —  you  look  all  to  d' 
mustard,  Geoff !  You  —  you  look  as  if  you  could  —  do 
things,  now !  " 

"  Strangely  enough,  Spike,  I  rather  feel  that  way 
too !  "  So  saying,  Mr.  Ravenslee  took  a  pipe  from  the 
rack,  filled  it  with  quick,  energetic  fingers,  and  proceeded 
to  light  it,  watched  in  dumb  amaze  by  the  gaping 
Brimberly. 

"  Brimberly,"  said  he,  "  I  ^  shall  probably  return  to 
morrow." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  he  faintly. 

"  Or  the  day  after." 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"  Or  the  day  after." 

"  Yes,  sir !  " 

"  Or  the  day  after  that ;  anyhow,  I  shall  probably 
return.  Should  any  one  call  —  business  or  otherwise 
—  tell  'em  to  call  again ;  say  I  'm  out  of  town  —  you 
understand?  " 

"  Out  of  town  —  certingly,  sir." 

"  Referring  to  —  to  the  matter  we  talked  of  to-night, 
Brimberly  —  " 

"Meaning  the  hobject,  sir?  " 

"  Precisely !     Don't  trouble  yourself  about  it." 

"  No,  sir?  " 

"  No,  Brimberly  —  I  'm  going  to  try  and  find  one  for 
myself." 


34  The  Definite  Object 

"  Ho  —  very  good,  sir !  " 

"  And  now,"  said  the  new  Mr.  Ravenslee,  laying  one 
white,  ringless  hand  on  Spike's  shoulder  and  pointing 
toward  the  open  door  with  the  other,  "  lead  on  —  young 
Destiny ! " 


CHAPTER    IV 

TELLING    HOW    HE    CAME    TO    HELL*S    KITCHEN    AT    PEEP 
O5   DAY 

IT  was  past  three  o'clock  and  dawn  was  at  hand  as,  by 
devious  ways,  Spike  piloted  his  companion  through  that 
section  of  New  York  City  which  is  known  to  the  initiated 
as  "  Hell's  Kitchen."  By  dismal  streets  they  went,  past 
silent,  squalid  houses  and  tall  tenements  looming  grim  and 
ghostly  in  the  faint  light;  crossing  broad  avenues  very 
silent  and  deserted  at  this  hour,  on  and  on  until,  dark  and 
vague  and  mysterious,  the  great  river  flowed  before  them 
only  to  be  lost  again  as  they  plunged  into  a  gloomy  court 
where  tall  buildings  rose  on  every  hand,  huge  and  very 
silent,  teeming  with  life  —  but  life  just  now  wrapped  in 
that  profound  quietude  of  sleep  which  is  so  much  akin  to 
death.  Into  one  of  these  tall  tenement  buildings,  its  ugli 
ness  rendered  more  ugly  by  the  network  of  iron  fire-escape 
ladders  that  writhed  up  the  face  of  it,  Spike  led  the  way, 
first  into  a  dark  hallway  and  thence  up  many  stairs  that 
echoed  to  their  light-treading  feet  —  on  and  up,  past 
dimly  lit  landings  where  were  doors  each  of  which  shut  in 
its  own  little  world,  a  world  distinct  and  separate  wherein 
youth  and  age,  good  and  evil,  joy  and  misery,  lived  and 
moved  and  had  their  being;  behind  these  dingy  panels 
were  smiling  hope  and  black  despair,  blooming  health  and 
pallid  sickness,  and  all  those  sins  and  virtues  that  go  to 
make  up  the  sum  total  of  humanity. 

Something  of  all  this  was  in  Geoffrey  Ravenslee's  mind 
as  he  climbed  the  dingy,  interminable  stair  behind  Spike, 
who  presently  halted  to  get  his  wind  and  whisper: 

"  It  ain't  much  further  now,  Geoff,  only  another  two 


36  The  Definite  Object 

flights  and  —  "  He  stopped  suddenly  to  listen,  and  from 
the  landing  above  a  sound  reached  them,  a  sound  soft  but 
unmistakable  —  a  woman's  muffled  sobbing. 

Slowly,  cautiously,  they  mounted  the  stair  until  in  the 
dim  light  of  a  certain  landing  they  beheld  a  slim  figure 
bowed  upon  its  knees  in  an  agony  of  abasement  before  a 
scarred  and  dingy  door.  Even  as  they  stared,  the  slender, 
girlish  figure  sobbed  again,  and,  with  a  sudden,  yearning 
gesture,  lifted  a  face,  pale  in  the  half-light,  and  kissed  that 
battered  door;  thereafter,  weeping  still,  she  rose  to  her 
feet  and  turned,  but  seeing  Spike,  stood  very  still  all  at 
once  and  with  hands  clasped  tight  together. 

"  Holy  Gee !  "  exclaimed  Spike  beneath  his  breath ; 
then,  in  a  hoarse  whisper :  "  Is  that  Maggie  —  Maggie 
Finlay?  " 

"Oh  —  is  that  you,  Arthur?"  she  whispered  back. 
"  Arthur  —  oh,  Arthur,  I,  I  'm  going  away,  but  I 
could  n't  go  without  coming  to  —  to  kiss  dear  mother 
good-by  —  and  now  I  'm  here  I  dare  n't  knock  for  fear 
of  —  father.  I  've  been  up  to  your  door  and  knocked, 
but  Hermy  's  away,  I  guess.  Anyway,  you  —  you  '11  say 
I  came  to  thank  her  and  —  kiss  her  for  the  last  time, 
won't  you,  Arthur?  " 

"  Sure  I  will  —  but  where  ye  goin',  Maggie  ?  " 

"  A  long  way,  Arthur !  I  don't  s'pose  I  shall  ever  —  see 
this  place  any  more  —  or  you  —  so,  Arthur,  will  you  — 
kiss  me  good-by  —  just  once?  " 

Spike  hesitated,  but  she,  quick  and  light-treading,  came 
down  to  him  and  caught  his  hand  and  would  have  kissed 
that,  but  he  snatched  it  away  and,  leaning  forward,  kissed 
her  tear-stained  cheek,  and  blushed  thereafter  despite  the 
dark. 

"  Good-by,  Arthur !  "  she  whispered,  "  and  thank  you 
—  and  dear  Hermy  —  oh,  good-by  !  "  So  saying,  she 
hurried  on  past  Ravenslee,  down  the  dark  stairway,  while 
Spike  leaned  over  the  balustrade  to  whisper : 

"  Good-by,  Maggie  —  an'  good  luck,  Kid !  "  At  this  she 
paused  to  look  up  at  him  with  great,  sad  eyes  —  a  long, 


How  He  Came  to  Hell's  Kitchen     37 

wistful  look,  then,  speaking  no  more,  hurried  on  down  the 
stair  —  down,  down  into  the  shadows,  and  was  gone. 

"  We  used  to  go  to  school  together,  Geoff,"  the  boy 
explained  a  little  self-consciously,  "  she  never  —  kissed  me 
before;  she  ain't  the  kissin'  sort.  I  wonder  why  she  did 
it  to-night  ?  I  wonder  —  " 

So  saying,  Spike  turned  and  led  the  way  on  again  until 
they  reached  the  landing  above,  across  which  two  doors, 
dark  and  unlovely,  seemed  to  scowl  upon  each  other.  One 
of  these  Spike  proceeded  to  open  with  a  latchkey,  and  so 
led  Ravenslee  into  the  dark  void  beyond.  Spike  struck  a 
match  and  lighted  the  gas,  and,  looking  about  him,  Ra 
venslee  stared. 

A  little,  cramped  room,  sparsely  furnished  yet  dainty 
and  homelike,  for  the  small,  deal  table  hid  its  bare  naked 
ness  beneath  a  dainty  cloth;  the  two  rickety  armchairs 
veiled  their  faded  tapestry  under  chintz  covers,  cunningly 
contrived  and  delicately  tinted  to  match  the  cheap  but 
soft-toned  drugget  on  the  floor  and  the  self-coloured  paper 
on  the  walls,  where  hung  two  or  three  inexpensive  repro 
ductions  of  famous  paintings ;  and  in  all  things  there 
breathed  an  air  of  refinement  wholly  unexpected  in  Hell's 
Kitchen.  Wherefore  Mr.  Ravenslee,  observing  all  things 
with  his  quick  glance,  felt  an  ever-growing  wonder.  But 
now  Spike,  who  had  been  clattering  plates  and  dishes  in 
the  kitchen  hard  by,  thrust  his  head  around  the  door  to 
say: 

"  Oh,  Geoff  —  I  don't  feel  like  doin'  the  shut-eye  busi 
ness,  d'  you?  How  about  a  cup  of  coffee,  an'  I  daresay  I 
might  dig  out  some  eats ;  what  d'  ye  say  ?  " 

"  Is  this  —  your  sister  ?  "  enquired  Mr.  Ravenslee,  tak 
ing  up  a  photograph  from  the  little  sideboard. 

"  Yep,  that 's  Hermy  all  right  —  taken  las'  year  — 
does  her  hair  different  now.  How  about  some  coffee, 
Geoff?  " 

"  Coffee?  "  said  Mr.  Ravenslee,  staring  at  the  picture, 
"  coffee  —  certainly  —  er  —  thanks !  She  has  —  light 
hair,  Spike?" 


38  The  Definite  Object 

"  Gold !  "  said  Spike,  and  vanished ;  whereupon  Mr.  Ra- 
venslee  laid  the  photograph  on  the  table,  and  sitting  down, 
fell  to  viewing  it  intently. 

A  wonderful  face,  low-browed,  deep-eyed,  full-lipped. 
Here  was  none  of  smiling  prettiness,  for  these  eyes  were 
grave  and  thoughtful,  these  lips,  despite  their  soft,  volup 
tuous  curves,  were  firmly  modelled  like  the  rounded  chin 
below,  and,  in  all  the  face,  despite  its  vivid  youth,  was  a 
vague  and  wistful  sadness. 

"  Oh,  Geoff,"  called  Spike,  "  d'  ye  mind  having  yer 
coffee  a  la  milko  condense?  " 

"Milk?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Ravenslee,  starting.  "Oh  — 
yes  —  anything  will  do !  " 

"  Why,  hello !  "  exclaimed  Spike,  reappearing  with  a 
cup  and  saucer,  "  still  piping  off  Hermy's  photo,  Geoff?  " 

"  I  'm  wondering  why  she  looks  so  sad?  " 

"  Sad?  "  repeated  Spike,  setting  down  the  crockery  with 
a  rattle,  "  Hermy  ain't  sad ;  she  always  looks  like  that. 
Y'  see,  she  ain't  much  on  the  giggle,  Geoff,  but  she  's  most 
always  singing,  'cept  when  her  kids  is  sick  or  Mulligan 
calls  —  " 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Oh,  Hermy  mothers  all  the  kids  around  here  when 
they  're  sick,  an'  lots  o'  kids  is  always  getting  sick.  And 
when  Mulligan  comes  it 's  rent  day,  an'  sometimes 
Hermy  's  a  bit  shy  on  the  money  —  " 

"  Is  she?  "  said  Mr.  Ravenslee,  frowning. 

"  You  bet  she  is,  Geoff !  An'  Mulligan  's  an  Irishman 
an'  mean  —  say,  he  's  the  meanest  mutt  you  ever  see.  A 
Jew  's  mean,  so  's  a  Chink,  but  a  mean  Harp  's  got  'em 
both  skinned  'way  to  'Frisco  an'  back  again !  Why,  Mulli 
gan  's  that  mean  he  would  n't  cough  up  a  nickel  to  see  the 
Statue  o'  Liberty  do  a  Salomy  dance  in  d'  bay.  So  when 
the  mazuma  's  shy  Hermy  worries  some  —  " 

"  Don't  you  help  her?  "  demanded  Mr.  Ravenslee. 

"  Help  her  —  why,  y'  see,  Geoff,  I  —  I  ain't  in  a  steady 
job  yet.  But  I  do  my  best  an'  —  why,  there's  d' kettle 
boilin'  at  last !  "  saying  which,  Spike  turned  and  vanished 


How  He  Came  to  Hell's  Kitchen     39 

again,  leaving  Mr.  Ravenslee  still  staring  down  at  the 
pictured  face.  Presently  he  sank  back  in  his  chair,  and, 
lolling  thus,  looked  sleepily  at  the  opposite  wall  but  saw 
it  not,  nor  heard  the  clatter  of  cups  and  saucers  from  the 
kitchen  accompanied  by  Spike's  windy  whistling;  and,  as 
he  lounged  thus,  he  spoke  softly,  and  to  himself. 

"  An  object!  "  he  murmured. 

"  Hey,  Geoff,"  Spike  called,  "  this  ain't  goin'  to  be  no 
a  la  carte,  hock  an'  claret  feedin'  match,  nor  yet  no  table- 
de-hoty  eat-fest,  but  if  you  can  do  in  some  bacon  an'  eggs, 
you  're  on !  " 

"  Why,  then,"  said  Mr.  Ravenslee,  rising  and  yawning, 
"  count  me  decidedly  '  on.' ' 

"  Then  d  'you  mind  givin'  me  a  hand  wid  d'  coffee?  " 

"  Delighted !  "  and  forthwith  Mr.  Ravenslee  stepped  out 
into  the  kitchen ;  and  there,  in  a  while,  upon  a  rickety 
table  covered  with  a  greasy  newspaper,  they  ate  and 
drank  with  great  relish  and  gusto,  insomuch  that  Mr. 
Ravenslee  marvelled  at  his  own  appetite. 

"  Say,  Geoff,"  enquired  Spike  as  hunger  waned,  "  how 
long  are  you  stoppin'  at  Mulligan's  —  a  week  ?  " 

"  A  week  —  a  month  —  six  months,"  replied  his  guest 
sleepily.  "  It 's  all  according  —  " 

"Accordin'  to  what?" 

"  Well  —  er  —  circumstances." 

"  What  circumstances  ?  " 

"  Circumstances  over  which  I  have  no  control  —  yet !  " 

"  You  don't  mean  me?  "  queried  Spike,  with  an  anxious 
expression. 

"Lord,  no!." 

"  And  you  '11  never  tell  nobody  that  I  —  that  I  —  " 

"  Meant  to  be  —  a  thief?  "  drawled  Mr.  Ravenslee. 
"  Not  a  word !  " 

Spike  flushed,  took  a  gulp  of  coffee,  choked,  and  fell  to 
sulky  silence,  while  Mr.  Ravenslee  filled  his  pipe  and 
yawned. 

"  Say,"  demanded  Spike  at  last,  "  where  '11  you  live 
while  you  're  here?  " 


40  The  Definite  Object 

"  Oh  —  somewhere,  I  suppose ;  I  have  n't  bothered 
about  where  yet." 

"  Well,  I  been  thinkin'  I  know  where  I  can  fix  you  up  — 
perhaps !  " 

"  Very  kind  of  you,  Spike !  " 

"There's  Mrs.  Trapes  'cross  d' landing;  she  lost  her 
lodger  last  week  —  mean  guy  skinned  off  without  paying 
d'  rent  —  she  might  take  you." 

"Across  the  landing?  She'll  do!"  nodded  Mr. 
Raven  slee. 

"  But  I  'm  wonderin'  if  you  'II  do ;  she  's  a  holy  terror 
when  she  likes,  Geoff." 

"Across  the  landing?  I'll  put  up  with  her!"  mur 
mured  Mr.  Ravenslee. 

"  But,  say,  you  don't  know  Mrs.  Trapes." 

"  Not  yet,  Spike." 

"  Well,  she  ain't  no  easy  mark,  Geoff !  Most  everybody 
in  Mulligan's  is  scared  of  her  when  she  cuts  loose;  she 
can  talk  ye  deaf,  dumb  an'  paralysed,  she  can  so.  She 
sure  is  aces  up  on  d'  chin-music,  Geoff !  " 

"  But  then  she  lives  just  opposite,  and  that  circum 
stance,  methinks,  doth  cover  a  multitude  of  — "  Mr. 
Ravenslee  yawned  again. 

"  Anyway,  it 's  a  sure  thing  she  won't  take  you  if  she 
don't  like  ye,  Geoff." 

"  Why,  then,  she  must  like  me !  "  said  Mr.  Ravenslee 
and  proceeded  to  light  his  pipe;  whereupon  Spike  pro 
duced  a  box  of  cigarettes,  but,  in  the  act  of  lighting  one, 
paused,  and  sighing,  put  it  away  again. 

"  I  promised  d'  Spider  I  would  n't,  Geoff,"  he  explained. 
"  Y'  see,  I  'm  sort  of  in  trainin',  and  Spider  says  smoke  's 
bad  for  d'  wind,  and  d'  Spider  knows." 

"  Spider?"  said  Mr.  Ravenslee,  glancing  up,  "do  you 
mean  Spider  Connolly  the  lightweight?  " 

"  That 's  d'  guy !  "  nodded  Spike. 

"  Is  he  a  friend  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Sure !  Him  an'  Bud  M'Ginnis  is  goin'  to  get  me  some 
good  matches  soon." 


How  He  Came  to  Hell's  Kitchen     41 

"  Boxing  matches  ?  " 

"  That  's  what  they  call  'em,  Geoff  —  but  there  ain't 
much  boxin'  to  it ;  real  boxin'  don't  go  down  wid  d'  sports, 
it 's  d'  punch  they  wanter  see  —  good,  stiff  wallops  as  jars 
a  guy  an'  makes  his  knees  get  wobbly  —  swings  and  j  olts 
as  makes  a  guy  blind  an'  deaf  an'  sick.  Oh,  I  been  like 
that,  an'  I  know  —  an'  it  ain't  all  candy  t'  hear  everybody 
yellin'  to  the  other  guy  to  go  in  an'  finish  ye !  " 

"  Does  your  sister  know  you  fight?  " 

"  Not  much,  she  don't !  I  guess  she  'd  like  me  to  be  a 
mommer's  pet  in  lace  collars  an'  a  velvet  suit,  an'  soft  an' 
pretty  in  me  talk.  She  's  made  me  promise  t'  cut  out 
d'  tough-spiel,  an'  so  I  'm  tryin'  to  —  " 

"  Are  you  really,  Spike  ?  " 

"  Well  —  when  she  's  around  I  do,  Geoff !  " 

"  And  she  does  n't  like  you  to  fight,  eh  ?  " 

"  Nope !     But  y'  see  —  she  's  only  a  girl,  Geoff !  " 

"  And  that 's  the  wonder  of  it !  "  nodded  Mr.  Ravenslee. 

"  Wonder?     What  d'  ye  mean?  " 

"  I  mean  that  all  these  years  she  has  managed  to  feed 
you,  and  clothe  you,  and  keep  a  comfortable  home  for  you, 
and  she  's  —  only  a  girl !  " 

"  Well,  and  ain't  I  tryin'  to  make  good  ?  "  cried  the 
boy  eagerly. 

"  Are  you  really,  Spike  ?  " 

"  Sure !  There  's  lots  o'  money  in  d'  fightin'  game,  an' 
I  'm  fightin'  all  for  Hermy.  If  ever  I  get  a  champ,  I  '11 
have  money  to  burn,  an'  then  she  '11  never  be  shy  on 
d'  dollar  question  no  more,  you  bet !  There  '11  be  no  more 
needlework  or  Mulligan's  for  Hermy ;  it  '11  be  a  farm  in 
d'  country  wid  roses  climbin'  around,  an'  chickens,  an'  — 
an'  automobiles,  an'  servants  to  come  when  she  pushes 
d'  button  —  you  bet !  " 

"  Is  she  so  fond  of  the  country?  " 

"  Well,  I  guess  yes !    An'  flowers  —  Gee,  she  nearly  eats 


'em 


i  " 


"  On  the  other  hand,"  said  Mr.  Ravenslee,  watching  the 
smoke  from  his  pipe  with  a  dreamy  eye,  "  on  the  other 


4-2  The  Definite  Object 

hand  I  gather  she  does  not  like  —  Mr.  M'Ginnis !  I 
wonder  why?  " 

"  You  can  search  me !  "  answered  Spike,  shaking  his 
head,  "  but  it 's  a  sure  thing  she  ain't  got  no  use  for 
Bud." 

"  And  yet  —  you  go  around  with  him,  Spike." 

"  But  don't  I  tell  ye  he  's  been  good  t'  me !  He  's  goin' 
t'  match  me  with  some  top-liners ;  he  says  if  I  can  stick 
it  I  '11  be  a  champion  sure." 

"Yes,"  nodded  Mr.  Ravenslee,  "but  when?" 

"  Oh,  Bud  's  got  it  all  doped  out.     But  say  —  " 

"  And  in  the  meantime  your  sister  will  go  on  feeding 
you  and  clothing  you  and  — 

"  Cheese  it,  Geoff,"  cried  the  boy,  flushing.  "  You  make 
a  guy  feel  like  a  two-spot  in  the  discard!  I  told  you 
I  'd  try  to  get  a  steady  j  ob,  an'  so  I  will  —  but  I  ain't 
goin'  to  quit  the  fightin'  game  for  nobody !  'N'  say  — 
I  'm  sleepy.  How  about  it?  You  can  have  my  bed,  or 
the  couch  here,  or  you  can  get  in  Hermy's  —  " 

"  Thanks,  the  couch  will  do,  Spike." 

"  Then  I  guess  it 's  me  for  the  feathers !  "  said  Spike, 
rising  and  stretching,  "  so  long,  Geoff !  " 

And  in  a  while,  having  finished  his  pipe  and  knocked 
out  the  ashes,  Mr.  Ravenslee  stretched  his  long  limbs  upon 
the  chintz-covered  sofa,  and,  mirabUe  dictu,  immediately 
fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER   V 

HOW    MRS.    TRAPES   ACQUIRED   A   NEW    LODGER,   DESPITE   HER 

ELBOWS 

HE  awoke  suddenly  and  sat  up  to  find  the  room  full  of 
sunshine  and  Spike  standing  beside  him,  a  bright-faced, 
merry-eyed  Spike,  very  spruce  and  neat  as  to  person. 

"  Say,  Geoff,"  said  he,  "  I  've  seen  Mrs.  Trapes,  an' 
she  wants  you  to  go  over  so  she  can  pipe  you  off.  'N'  say, 
you  're  sure  up  against  a  catty  proposition  in  her ;  if 
you  don't  hit  it  off  on  the  spot  as  soon  as  she  gets  her 
lamps  onto  you,  it  '11  be  nix  for  you,  Geoff,  an'  nothin' 
doin'!" 

"  Lucid ! "  said  Ravenslee,  yawning,  "  and  sounds 
promising !  " 

"  Why,  y'  see,  Geoff,  she  's  got  a  grouch  on  because  I 
was  out  last  night,  so,  if  she  gives  you  the  gimlet  eye  at 
first,  just  josh  her  along  a  bit.  Now  slick  yourself  up 
an'  come  on."  Obediently  Mr.  Ravenslee  arose  and  hav 
ing  tightened  his  neckerchief  and  smoothed  his  curly  hair, 
crossed  the  landing  and  followed  Spike  into  the  opposite 
flat,  a  place  of  startling  cleanliness  as  to  floors  and  walls, 
and  everything  therein;  uncomfortably  trim  of  aspect 
and  direfully  ornate  as  to  rugs  and  carpet  and  sofa 
cushions. 

Mrs.  Trapes  herself  was  elderly;  she  was  also  a  woman 
of  points,  being  bony  and  sharp  featured,  particularly 
as  to  elbows,  which  were  generally  bare.  Indeed,  they 
might  be  said  to  be  her  most  salient  and  obtrusive  fea 
tures  ;  but  her  shrewd,  sharp  eyes  held  an  elusive  kindli 
ness  at  times,  and  when  she  smiled,  which  was  very  rarely, 
her  elbows  and  her  general  sharpness  were  quite  forgotten. 


44  The  Definite  Object 

She  was  awaiting  them  in  her  parlour,  enthroned  in  her 
best  easy  chair,  a  chair  of  green  velvet  where  purple 
flowers  bloomed  riotously,  her  feet  firm-planted  upon  a 
hearthrug  cunningly  enwrought  with  salmon-pink  sun 
flowers.  Bolt  upright  and  stiff  of  back  she  sat,  making 
the  very  utmost  of  her  elbows,  for  her  sleeves  being  rolled 
high  (as  was  their  wont)  and  her  arms  being  folded  within 
her  apron,  they  projected  themselves  to  left  and  right  in 
highly  threatening  fashion.  Sphinx-like  she  sat,  very 
silent  and  very  still,  while  her  sharp  eyes  roved  over  Mr. 
Ravenslee's  person  from  the  toes  of  his  boots  to  the  dark 
hair  that  curled  short  and  crisp  above  his  brow.  Thus 
she  looked  him  up  and  she  looked  him  down,  viewing  each 
garment  in  turn;  lastly,  she  lifted  her  gaze  to  his  face 
and  stared  at  him  —  eye  to  eye. 

And  eye  to  eye  Mr.  Ravenslee,  serene  and  calm  as  ever, 
met  her  look,  while  Spike,  observing  her  granite-like  ex 
pression  and  the  fierce  jut  of  her  elbows,  shuffled,  and 
glanced  toward  the  door.  But  still  Mrs.  Trapes  glared 
tip  at  Mr.  Ravenslee,  and  still  Mr.  Ravenslee  glanced  down 
at  Mrs.  Trapes  wholly  unabashed,  nay  —  he  actually 
smiled,  and,  bowing  his  dark  head,  spoke  in  his  easy, 
pleasant  voice. 

"  A  beautiful  afternoon,  Mrs.  Trapes !  " 

Mrs.  Trapes  snorted. 

"  This  room  will  suit  me  —  er  —  admirably." 

Mrs.  Trapes  started  slightly,  opened  her  grim  lips, 
shut  them  again,  and  —  wriggled  her  elbows. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  continued  Mr.  Ravenslee  pleasantly,  "  I 
like  this  room  —  so  nice  and  bright,  like  the  rug  and  wall 
paper  —  especially  the  rug.  Yes,  I  like  the  rug  and  the 
—  er  —  stuffed  owl  in  the  corner !  "  and  he  nodded  to  a 
shapeless,  moth-eaten  something  under  a  glass  case  against 
the  wall. 

Mrs.  Trapes  wriggled  her  elbows  again  and,  glaring 
still,  spoke  harsh-voiced. 

"  Young  feller,  that  owl 's  a  parrot !  " 

"  A    parrot  —  of    course !  "    assented    Mr.    Ravenslee 


Mrs.  Trapes's  New  Lodger       45 

gently,  "  and  a  very  fine  parrot  too !  Then  the  wax 
flowers  and  the  antimacassars !  What  would  a  home  be 
without  them?"  said  he,  dreamy-eyed  and  grave.  "I 
think  I  shall  be  very  bright  and  cheerful  here,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Trapes." 

Mrs.  Trapes  swallowed  audibly,  stared  at  Spike  until 
he  writhed,  and  finally  bored  her  sharp  eyes  into  Mr. 
Ravenslee  again. 

"  Young  man,"  said  she,  "  what  name?  " 

"  I  think  our  friend  Spike  has  informed  you  that  I  am 
sometimes  called  Geoffrey.  Mrs.  Trapes,  our  friend  Spike 
told  the  truth." 

"  Young  feller,"  she  demanded,  "  'oo  are  you  and  — 
what?" 

"  Mrs.  Trapes,"  he  sighed,  "  I  am  a  lonely  wight,  a 
wanderer  in  wild  places,  a  waif,  a  stray,  puffed  hither 
and  thither  by  a  fate  perverse  —  " 

"Talking  o'  verses,  you  ain't  a  poet,  are  you?"  en 
quired  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  last  poet  as  lodged  wi'  me  useter 
go  to  bed  in  'is  boots  reg'lar !  Consequently  I  ain't  nowise 
drawed  to  poets  —  " 

Mr.  Ravenslee  laughed  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Have  no  fear,"  he  answered,  "  I  'm  no  poet  nor  ever 
shall  be.  I  'm  quite  an  ordinary  human  being,  I  assure 
you." 

"  Young  feller  —  references  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Trapes,  I  have  none  —  except  my  face.  But  you 
have  very  sharp  eyes;  look  at  me  well.  Do  I  strike  you 
as  a  rogue  or  a  thief?  " 

Here  Spike,  chancing  to  catch  his  eye,  blushed  pain 
fully,  while  Mr.  Ravenslee  continued: 

"  Come,  Mrs.  Trapes,  you  have  a  motherly  heart,  I 
know,  and  I  am  a  very  lonely  being  who  needs  one  like 
you  to  —  to  cook  and  care  for  his  bodily  needs  and  to 
look  after  the  good  of  his  solitary  soul.  Were  I  to  search 
New  York  I  could  n't  find  another  motherly  heart  so 
suited  to  my  crying  needs  as  yours;  you  won't  turn  me 
away,  will  you?  "  Saying  which,  Mr.  Ravenslee  smiled 


46  The  Definite  Object 

his  slow,  sleepy  smile  and  —  wonder  of  wonders  —  Mrs. 
Trapes  smiled  too! 

"  When  d'  ye  wanter  come?  " 

"Now!" 

"  Land  sakes !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  If  it  won't  trouble  you  too  much?  "  he  added. 

"  There  's  sheets  to  be  aired  —  "  she  began,  but  checked 
suddenly  to  stare  at  him  again.  "  Look  a  here,  Mr.  Geof 
frey,"  she  went  on,  "  my  terms  is  two-fifty  a  week,  ten 
dollars  with  board,  and  a  week  in  advance." 

"  Good !  "  nodded  Mr.  Ravenslee,  "  but  since  I  'm  com 
ing  in  at  such  short  notice,  I  '11  pay  three  weeks  ahead 
just  to  —  er  —  bind  the  bargain.  See  —  that  will  be 
thirty  dollars,  won't  it?  "  And  speaking,  he  drew  a  hand 
ful  of  crumpled  bills  from  his  pocket  and  proceeded  to 
count  out  thirty  dollars  upon  the  green  and  yellow 
tablecloth. 

"  Sakes  alive !  "  murmured  Mrs.  Trapes. 

"  And  now,"  said  he,  "  I  '11  just  step  around  the  corner 
with  Spike  to  buy  —  er  —  a  toothbrush." 

"  Toothbrush !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Trapes  faintly. 

"  And  a  few  other  things.  I  shall  be  in  early  to 
supper." 

"  Would  a  nice,  English  mutton  chop  wiv  toma 
toes  —  ?  " 

"  Excellent ;  and  thank  you,  Mrs.  Trapes,  for  shelter 
ing  a  homeless  wretch."  So  saying,  her  new  boarder 
smiled  and  nodded  and,  following  Spike  out  into  the  hall 
way,  was  gone. 

But  Mrs.  Trapes  stood  awhile  to  stare  after  him,  lost 
in  speculation. 

"  A  toothbrush !  "  said  she.  "  My !  My !  "  Then  she 
turned  to  stare  down  at  the  pile  of  bills.  "  Now  I  won 
der,"  said  she,  right  hand  caressing  left  elbow-point,  "  I 
jest  wonder  who  he  's  been  a-choking  of  to  get  all  that 
money?  But  I  like  his  eyes!  And  his  smile!  And  he 
looks  a  man  —  and  honest !  Well,  well !  " 


CHAPTER    VI 

HOW    SPIKE    INITIATED    MR.    RAVENSLEE    INTO    THE    GENTLE 
ART   OF   SHOPPING 

"  GEE  !  "  exclaimed  Spike,  as  they  descended  the  many 
stairs,  "  she  sure  gave  you  the  frosty-face,  Geoff,  but  it 
did  n't  seem  to  j  oggle  you  any !  " 

"  No,  it  didn't  joggle  me,  Spike,  because  you  see  —  I 
like  her." 

"Like  Mrs.  Trapes?  You  Jn'  Hermy  are  about  the 
only  ones  then;  most  every  one  in  Mulligan's  hates  her 
an'  gets  scared  stiff  when  she  cuts  loose !  But  say,  you  do 
keep  on  rubbing  it  in,  I  mean  about  —  about  thieving !  " 

"  Probably  it 's  your  conscience,  Spike." 

"  You  won't  ever  go  telling  any  one  or  blowing  d'  game 
on  me?  " 

"  Spike,  when  I  make  a  promise  I  generally  keep  it." 

"  Y'  see,  Geoff,  it  ain't  as  though  I  was  a  —  a  real 
crook." 

"  You  meant  to  be." 

"  But  I  never  stole  nothin*  in  my  life,  Geoff." 

"  Suppose  I  had  n't  caught  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  cheese  it,  Geoff,  cheese  it !  Let 's  talk  about 
something  else." 

"  With  pleasure.     When  does  your  sister  return?  " 

"  This  evening,  I  guess.  But,  Geoff  —  say  now,  do  I 
look  like  a  real  crook  —  do  I?  " 

"  No,  you  don't,  Spike,  that 's  sure !  And  yet  —  only 
last  night  —  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  know  —  I  know !  "  groaned  the  lad,  "  but 
I  was  crazy,  I  think.  It  was  the  whisky,  Geoff,  an'  they 
doped  me  too,  I  guess !  I  don't  remember  much  after  we 


4-8  The  Definite  Object 

left  till  I  found  myself  in  your  swell  joint.  God!  if  I 
was  only  sure  they  doped  me." 

"Who?" 

"  Who  ?  Why  —  gee,  you  nearly  had  me  talking  that 
time!  Nix  on  the  questions,  Geoff,  I  ain't  goin'  to  give 
'em  away;  it  ain't  playin'  square.  Only,  if  two  or  three 
guys  dopes  a  guy  till  a  guy's  think-box  is  like  a  cheese 
an'  his  mind  as  clear  as  mud,  that  poor  guy  ain't  to  be 
blamed  for  it,  now,  is  he  ?  " 

"  Why,  certainly !  "  nodded  Ravenslee. 

"  How  d'  ye  make  that  out  ?  " 

"  For  being  such  a  fool  of  a  guy  as  to  let  other  guys 
fool  him,  of  course.  Sounds  a  little  cryptic,  but  I  guess 
you  understand." 

"  Oh,  I  get  you !  "  sighed  Spike  drearily.  "  But  say, 
didn't  you  come  out  to  buy  a  toothbrush?  " 

"  And  other  things,  yes." 

"  Well,  say,  s'pose  we  quit  chewing  th'  rag  an'  start  in 
an'  get  'em.  There  's  a  Sheeny  store  on  Ninth  Avenue 
where  you  can  get  dandy  shirts  for  fifty  cents  a  throw." 

"  Sounds  fairly  reasonable !  "  nodded  Mr.  Ravenslee  as 
they  turned  up  Thirty-ninth  Street. 

"  Then  you  want  a  new  lid,  Geoff !  " 

Mr.  Ravenslee  took  off  the  battered  hat  and  looked 
at  it. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  this  ?  "  he  enquired. 

"  Nothin',  Geoff,  only  it  wants  burnin',"  sighed  Spike. 
"  An'  then  —  them  boots  —  oh,  gee !  " 

"  Are  they  so  bad  as  that?  " 

"  Geoff,  they  sure  are  the  punkest  pavement  pounders 
in  little  old  N'  York.  Why,  a  Dago  hodcarrier  would  n't 
be  seen  dead  in  'em ;  look  at  th'  patches.  Gee  whizz ! 
Where  did  His  Whiskers  dig  'em  up  from?  " 

"  I  fancy  they  were  his  own  —  once,"  answered  Mr. 
Ravenslee,  surveying  his  bulbous,  be-patched  footgear  a 
little  ruefully. 

"  Well,  I  '11  gamble  a  stack  of  blue  chips  there  ain't 
such  a  phoney  pair  in  Manhattan  Village." 


The  Gentle  Art  of  Shopping      49 

"  They  're  not  exactly  things  of  beauty,  I  '11  admit," 
sighed  Mr.  Ravenslee,  "  but  still  —  " 

"  They  're  rotten,  Geoff !  They  're  all  to  the  garbage 
can!  They  are  the  cheesiest  proposition  in  sidewalk 
slappers  I  ever  piped  off !  " 

"  Hum !  You  're  inclined  to  be  a  trifle  discouraging, 
Spike !  " 

"  Why,  ye  see,  Geoff,  I  wan'cher  t*  meet  th'  push,  an' 
I  don't  want  'em  to  think  I  'm  floatin'  around  with  a 
down-an'-out  from  Battyville!  You  must  have  some  real 
shoes,  Geoff." 

"  Enough  —  it  shall  be  done !  "  nodded  Mr.  Ravenslee. 

"  Well,  tan  Oxfords  are  all  to  th'  grapes  just  now, 
Geoff.  I  don't  mean  those  giddy-lookin'  pumps  with 
flossy  bows  onto  'em,  but  somethin'  sporty,  good  an'  yel 
low  that  '11  flash  an'  let  folks  know  you  're  comin'.  And 
here  's  Eckstein's  !  " 

With  which  abrupt  remark  Spike  plunged  into  a  shop, 
very  dark  and  narrow  by  reason  of  a  heterogeneous  col 
lection  of  garments,  of  ribbons  and  laces,  of  collars  and 
ties  of  many  shapes  and  hues,  together  with  a  thousand 
and  one  other  things  that  displayed  themselves  from  floor 
to  ceiling;  amidst  which,  Mr.  Ravenslee  observed  a  stir, 
a  slight  confusion,  and  from  a  screen  of  vivid-bosomed 
shirts  a  head  protruded  itself,  round  as  to  face  and  sleek 
as  to  hair. 

"  Greetin's,  Ikey ! "  said  Spike,  nodding  to  the  head. 
"  How  's  pork  to-day?  " 

"  Aw  —  vat  you  vant  now,  hey  ?  "  enquired  the  head. 
"  Vat 's  the  vord ;  now  —  shpit  it  out !  " 

"  It  ain't  me,  Moses,  it 's  me  friend  wants  a  sporty  fit- 
out  an'  discount  for  spot  cash,  see?  Show  us  your  half- 
dollar  shirts  for  a  starter  —  an'  sporty  ones,  mind !  " 

Immediately  out  came  drawers  and  down  came  boxes, 
and  very  soon  the  small  counter  was  littered  with  piles 
of  raiment  variously  gaudy  which  Spike  viewed  and  dis 
paraged  with  such  knowing  judgment  that  the  salesman's 
respect  proportionately  grew,  and  Mr.  Ravenslee,  loung- 


50  The  Definite  Object 

ing  in  the  background,  was  forgotten  quite,  the  while  they 
chaffered  after  this  manner: 

SALESMAN.  "  Here  vos  a  shirt  as  can't  be  beat  for  der 
money  —  neglegee  boosom  an'  turnover  cuffs,  warranted 
shrunk,  and  all  for  vun  dollar." 

SPIKE.  "  Come  off,  Aaron,  come  off !  Fifty  cents  is 
th'  bid!" 

SALESMAN.  "Fifty  cents?  Vy,  on  Broadvay  dey  'd 
sharge  you  —  " 

SPIKE.  "  Wake  up,  Ike !  This  ain't  Broadway !  And 
fifty's  the  limit!" 

SALESMAN.  "  But  shust  look  at  dem  pink  shtripes  — 
so  vide  as  an  inch !  Dere  's  fifty  cents'  vorth  of  dye  in  dem 
shtripes,  an'  I  '11  give  it  you  for  seventy-five  cents !  On 
Broadvay  —  " 

SPIKE.  "  We  're  gettin'  there,  Ikey,  we  're  gettin' 
there ;  keep  on,  fifty  's  the  call !  " 

SALESMAN.  "  Fifty  cents !  Oi !  Oi !  I  vould  be 
ruined!  A  neglegee  boosom  and  turnover  cuffs!  Veil, 
veil  —  I  '11  wrap  it  up,  so  —  an'  I  make  you  a  present  of 
it  for  —  sixty !  An'  on  Broadvay  —  " 

SPIKE.  "  Come  on,  Geoff,  Aaron  's  talking  in  his  sleep ! 
Come  on,  we  '11  go  on  to  Mendelbaum's ;  see  —  we  want 
shirts,  an'  ties,  an'  socks,  an'  collars,  an'  —  " 

SALESMAN.  "  Vait  —  vait !  Mendelbaum  's  a  grafter 
—  vait !  I  got  th'  best  selection  of  socks  an'  ties  on  Ninth 
Av'noo,  an'  here  's  a  neglegee  shirt  with  turnover  cuffs  — 
an'  only  fifty  cents.  But  at  Mendelbaum's  or  on 
Broadvay  —  " 

In  this  way  Mr.  Ravenslee  became  possessed  of  sundry 
shirts  whose  bosoms  blushed  in  striped  and  spotted  splen 
dour,  of  vivid-hued  ties  and  of  handkerchiefs  with  flam 
ing  borders.  From  shop  to  shop  Spike  led  him  and,  hav 
ing  a  free  hand,  bought  right  royally,  commanding  that 
their  purchases  be  sent  around  hotfoot  to  Mulligan's. 
Thus  Spike  ordered,  and  Mr.  Ravenslee  dutifully  paid, 
marvelling  that  so  much  might  be  bought  for  so  little. 

"  I    guess    that 's    about    all    the    fixings    you  '11    need. 


The  Gentle  Art  of  Shopping      5  i 

Geoff !  "  said  Spike,  as  they  elbowed  their  way  along  the 
busy  avenue. 

"  Well,"  answered  Mr.  Ravenslee,  as  he  filled  his  pipe, 
"  it  will  certainly  take  me  some  time  to  wear  'em  out  — 
especially  those  shirts !  " 

"  They  sure  are  dandies,  Geoff !  Yes,  those  shirts  are 
all  to  the  lollipops,  but  say,  you  made  a  miscue  gettin' 
them  black  shoes,"  and  here  Spike  turned  to  stare  down 
at  his  companion's  newly  acquired  footwear.  "  Why 
not  buy  the  yellow  boys  I  rustled  up  for  you.  They  sure 
were  some  shoes  !  " 

"  They  were  indeed,  Spike." 

"  Gee,  but  it  must  feel  good  t'  be  able  t'  buy  whatever 
you  want !  "  sighed  Spike  dreamily.  "  Some  day  I  mean 
to  have  a  wad  big  enough  t'  choke  a  cow  —  but  I  wish  I 
had  it  right  now !  " 

"What  would  you  do  with  it?" 

"  Do  with  it !  Well,  say,  first  off  I  'd  —  I  'd  buy  Hermy 
them  roses  — th'  whole  lot,"  and  he  pointed  where,  among 
the  pushcarts  drawn  up  against  the  curb,  was  one  where 
roses  bloomed,  filling  the  air  with  their  sweetness.  "  An' 
next  she  should  —  " 

"  Then  go  and  buy  'em,  Spike !  "  and  speaking,  Mr. 
Ravenslee  thrust  a  bill  into  Spike's  hand. 

"Gee  —  a  twenty-spot!  Can  I,  Geoff?"  he  cried,  his 
blue  eyes  shining.  "  Th'  whole  lot  —  on  d'  level  ?  " 

"  On  the  level." 

Spike  started  joyfully  away,  paused,  turned,  and  came 
back  with  head  a-droop. 

"  I  guess  it  can't  be  done,  Geoff,"  he  sighed. 

"  Why  not?  " 

"  Well,  y'  see,  it  ain't  as  it  was  my  own  money,  really." 

"  But  it  is  !  " 

"  No,  it  ain't !  I  have  n't  earned  it,  Geoff,  an'  I  ain't 
a  guy  as  sponges  on  his  pals,  not  much  I  ain't.  Take 
your  money,  Geoff.  When  I  buy  Hermy  anything  it 's 
goin'  to  be  bought  with  money  as  I  've  earned." 

So  Mr.  Ravenslee  thrust  the  bill  back  into  his  pocket 


52  The  Definite  Object 

and  thereafter  walked  on,  frowning  and  very  silent,  as 
one  lost  in  perplexed  thought.  Wherefore,  after  more 
than  one  furtive  glance  at  him,  Spike  addressed  him  with 
a  note  of  diffidence  in  his  voice. 

"  You  ain't  sore  with  me,  are  you,  Geoff?  " 

"Sore  with  you?" 

"I  mean,  because  I  —  I  didn't  take  your  money?" 

Here  Mr.  Ravenslee  turned  to  glance  down  at  Spike 
and  clap  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  I  'm  not  sore  with  you.  And  I 
think  —  yes,  I  think  your  sister  is  going  to  be  proud  of 
you  one  day." 

And  now  it  was  Spike's  turn  to  grow  thoughtful,  while 
his  companion,  noting  the  flushed  brow  and  the  firm  set 
of  the  boyish  lips,  frowned  no  longer. 

"  Hello,  there 's  Tony ! "  exclaimed  Spike  as  they 
turned  into  Forty-second  Street,  "  over  there  —  behind 
the  pushcart  —  th'  guy  with  th'  peanuts  !  "  And  he 
pointed  where,  from  amid  a  throng  of  vehicles,  a  gaily 
painted  barrow  emerged,  a  barrow  whereon  were  peanuts 
unbaked,  baked,  and  baking  as  the  shrill  small  whistle 
above  its  stove  proclaimed  to  all  and  sundry.  It  was 
propelled  by  a  slender,  graceful,  olive-skinned  man,  who, 
beholding  Spike,  flashed  two  rows  of  brilliant  teeth  and 
halted  his  barrow  beside  the  curb. 

"  How  goes  it,  Tony?  "  questioned  Spike,  whereat  the 
young  Italian  smiled,  and  thereafter  sighed  and  shook  his 
head. 

"  Da  beezeneez-a  ver'  good,"  he  sighed,  "  da  peanut-a 
sell-a  all-a  da  time !  But  my  liP  Pietro  he  sick,  he  no  da 
same  since  his  moder  die-a,  me  no  da  same  —  have-a  none 
of  da  luck  —  noding  —  nix !  " 

"  Hard  cheese,  Tony !  "  quoth  Spike.  "  But  say,  have 
you  seen  th'  Spider  kickin'  around?  " 

"  No,  I  ain't !     But  you  tell-a  da  Signorina  —  " 

"  Sure  I  will  —  " 

"  My  lil'  Pietro  he  love-a  da  Signorina ;  me,  I  love-a 
her  —  she  so  good,  so  generosa,  ah,  yes !  "  And  taking 


The  Gentle  Art  of  Shopping      5  3 

off  his  hat  in  one  hand,  Tony  kissed  the  other  and  waved 
it  gracefully  in  the  air. 

"  Right-o,  Tony !  "  nodded  Spike.  "  You  can  let  it  go 
at  that.  An*  say  —  this  is  me  friend  Geoff." 

Tony  gripped  Mr.  Ravenslee's  hand  and  shook  it. 

"  You  one  o'  da  bunch  —  one  o'  da  boys,  hey?  Good-a 
luck."  So  saying,  Tony  nodded,  flashed  his  white  teeth 
again,  and  seizing  the  handles  of  his  barrow,  trundled  off 
his  peanut  oven,  whistling  soft  and  shrill. 

"  Tony  's  only  a  guinney,"  Spike  explained  as  they 
walked  on  again.  "  But  he  's  white,  Geoff  —  'n'  say,  he  's 
a  holy  terror  in  a  mix-up!  Totes  one  o'  them  stiletto 
knives.  I  've  seen  him  stab  down  into  a  glass  full  of  water 
an'  never  spill  a  drop,  which  sure  wants  some  doing." 

Evening  was  falling,  and  dismal  Tenth  Avenue  was 
wrapping  itself  in  shadow,  a  shadow  made  more  manifest 
by  small  lights  that  burned  dismally  in  small  and  dingy 
shops,  a  shadow,  this,  wherein  moving  shadows  jostled 
with  lounging  shoulder  or  elbow.  As  they  passed  a  cer 
tain  dark  entry  where  divers  of  these  vague  shadows 
lounged,  a  long  arm  was  stretched  thence,  and  a  large 
hand  gripped  Spike's  shoulder. 

"Why  — heUo,  Spider,"  said  he,  halting.  "What's 
doin'?  " 

"  Nawthin*  much,  Kid  —  only  little  M  —  'say,  who  's 
wid  you?  " 

"  Oh,  this  is  a  friend  o'  mine  —  Geoff,  dis  is  d'  Spider !  " 
explained  Spike. 

Visualised  in  "  the  Spider  "  Ravenslee  saw  a  tall,  slender 
youth,  very  wide  in  the  shoulder  and  prodigiously  long  of 
arm  and  leg,  and  who  looked  at  him  keen-eyed  from  be 
neath  a  wide  cap  brim,  while  his  square  jaws  worked  with 
untiring  industry  upon  a  wad  of  chewing  gum. 

"  Good  evening !  "  said  Ravenslee  and  held  out  his  hand. 
The  Spider  ceased  chewing  for  a  moment,  nodded,  and 
turning  to  Spike,  chewed  fiercer  than  ever. 

"Where  youse  goin',  Kid?"  he  enquired,  masticating 
the  while. 


54  The  Definite  Object 

"  What  was  you  goin'  to  tell  me,  Spider  ?  "  demanded 
Spike,  a  note  of  sudden  anxiety  in  his  voice. 

"  Nawthin',  Kid." 

"  Aw  —  come  off,  Spider !     What  was  it  ?  " 

The  Spider  glanced  up  at  the  gloomy  sky,  glanced  down 
at  the  dingy  pavement,  and  finally  beckoned  Spike  aside 
with  a  quick  back-jerk  of  the  head,  and,  stooping  close, 
whispered  something  in  his  ear  —  something  that  caused 
the  boy  to  start  away  with  clenched  hands  and  face  of 
horror,  something  that  seemed  to  trouble  him  beyond 
speech,  for  he  stood  a  moment  dumb  and  staring,  then 
found  utterance  in  a  sudden,  hoarse  cry : 

"  No  —  no !     It  ain't  true  —  oh,  my  God !  " 

And  with  the  cry,  Spike  turned  sharp  about  and, 
springing  to  a  run,  vanished  into  the  shadows. 

"  What 's  the  matter?  "  demanded  Ravenslee,  turning 
on  the  Spider. 

"  Matter  ?  "  repeated  that  youth,  staring  at  him  under 
his  cap  brim  again ;  "  well,  say  —  I  guess  you  'd  better 
ask  d'  Kid." 

"Where's  he  gone?" 

"  How  do  I  know?  " 

"  It  is  n't  —  his  sister,  is  it?  " 

"Miss  Hermione?  Well,  I  guess  not!"  So  saying, 
the  Spider,  chewing  ferociously,  turned  and  vanished  down 
the  dark  entry  with  divers  other  shadows. 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Ravenslee  stood  where  he  was,  star 
ing  uncertainly  after  him;  presently  however  he  went 
on  toward  Mulligan's,  though  very  slowly,  and  with  black 
brows  creased  in  frowning  perplexity. 


CHAPTER    VII 

CONCERNING   ANKLES,    STAIRS,   AND    NEIGHBOURLINESS 

IT  was  in  no  very  pleasant  humour  that  Geoffrey  Ravens- 
lee  began  to  climb  the  many  stairs  (that  much-trodden 
highway)  that  led  up  to  his  new  abode;  he  climbed  them 
slowly,  frowning  in  a  dark  perplexity,  and  wholly  uncon 
scious  of  the  folk  that  jostled  him  or  paused  to  stare  after 
him  as  he  went. 

But  presently,  and  all  at  once,  he  became  aware  of  one 
who  climbed  half  a  flight  above  him,  and,  glancing  up, 
he  saw  a  foot  in  a  somewhat  worn  shoe,  a  shapely  foot 
nevertheless,  joined  to  a  slender  ankle  which  peeped  and 
vanished  alternately  beneath  a  neat,  well-brushed  skirt 
that  swayed  to  the  vigorous  action  of  the  shapely  limbs 
it  covered.  He  was  yet  observing  the  soft,  rounded  curves 
of  this  most  feminine  back  when  he  became  aware  of  two 
facts:  one,  that  she  bore  a  heavy  suit  case  in  her  neatly 
gloved  hand ;  two,  that  the  tress  of  hair  peeping  rebellious 
beneath  the  neat  hat  brim  was  of  a  wondrous  yellow  gold. 
Instantly  he  hastened  his  steps,  and  reaching  out  his  hand 
almost  instinctively,  sought  to  relieve  her  of  her  burden. 

"  Allow  me !  "  said  he. 

She  stopped,  and  turning  on  the  stair  above,  looked 
down  on  him  with  a  pair  of  wondering  blue  eyes;  her 
cheeks  glowed,  and  she  was  panting  a  little.  For  a  long 
moment  they  fronted  each  other  thus  silently  upon  that 
grimy,  narrow  stair,  she  above  with  gracious  head 
stooped,  her  dark  eyes  questioning  and  wistful.  And  look 
ing  up  into  the  flushed  loveliness  of  her  face,  those  eyes 
deep  and  soft  beneath  their  long,  black  lashes,  the  tender 
droop  of  those  vivid  lips,  beholding  all  this,  he  knew  her 
to  be  a  thousand  times  more  beautiful  than  any  photo- 


56  The  Definite  Object 

graph  could  possibly  portray,  wherefore  he  bared  his  head, 
and  striving  to  speak,  could  find  no  words  to  utter.  For 
a  moment  longer  she  hesitated  while  her  clear  eyes  searched 
his  face,  then  the  red  lips  curved  in  a  little  wistful  smile. 

"  Thank  you !  "  she  said,  and,  yielding  him  her  burden, 
led  the  way  up-stairs.  "  I  'm  afraid  it 's  rather  heavy," 
she  said  over  her  shoulder  after  they  had  climbed  another 
flight. 

"  It 's  quite  too  heavy  for  you !  "  he  answered. 

"  Oh,  but  I  've  carried  it  often  before  now." 

"  Then  you  should  n't !  " 

"But  I  have  to!" 

"  No,"  said  Ravenslee,  shaking  his  head,  "  you  should 
let  your  brother  bring  it  up  for  you." 

"  My  brother !  "  she  exclaimed,  pausing  to  look  her 
amazement.  And  again  as  she  stood  thus  poised  above 
him,  he  took  joy  to  note  the  warmth  of  her  rich  colouring, 
the  soft,  round  column  of  her  white  throat,  the  gracious 
breadth  of  hip  and  shoulder. 

"  You  know  I  have  a  brother  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Spike  —  er  —  that  is,  Arthur  and  I  are  quite 
—  er  —  ancient  cronies  —  pals,  you  know  —  friends,  I 
mean  —  "  Mr.  Ravenslee  was  actually  stammering. 

"  Oh,  really  ?  "  she  said  softly ;  but  all  at  once,  becom 
ing  aware  of  the  fixity  of  his  regard,  the  colour  deepened 
in  her  cheek,  the  long  lashes  drooped  and,  turning  away, 
she  went  on  up  the  stair. 

"  It 's  a  long  way  up  yet !  Had  n't  you  better  let  me 
take  it?  " 

"  Not  for  worlds !  "  he  answered. 

"  Is  n't  it  getting  heavier? "  she  enquired,  as  they 
climbed  the  next  flight. 

"  Decidedly  heavier !  " 

'*  Then  please,"  said  she,  slackening  her  pace,  "  please 
let  me  take  it !  " 

"  On  the  contrary,"  he  answered,  his  gaze  on  her  slen 
der  foot  and  ankle,  "  I  should  like  to  carry  it  for  you  all 
my  —  er  —  ah,  that  is  —  I  mean  —  " 


Concerning  Ankles  and  Stairs     57 

Mr.  Ravenslee  was  stammering  again. 

"Yes?" 

He  was  aware  that  the  shapely  foot  had  faltered  in  its 
going. 

"  As  often  as  I  may,  Miss  Hermione." 

Hereupon  the  shapely  foot  halted  altogether,  and  once 
again  she  turned  to  look  at  him  in  wide-eyed  surprise. 

"  You  know  my  name?  " 

"  I  learned  it  from  Arthur,  and  —  I  shall  never  for 
get  it !  " 

"Why  not?" 

"  Well,  because  it  is  rather  uncommon  and  —  very 
beautiful !  " 

"  Oh !  "  said  Hermione,  and  went  on  up  the  stair  again, 
yet  not  before  he  had  seen  the  flush  was  back  in  her  cheek. 

"  Are  you  getting  tired  yet?  "  she  enquired,  without 
looking  round. 

"  Not  appreciably,"  he  answered,  "  but  if  you  think  I 
need  a  rest  —  " 

"  No,  no !  "  she  laughed,  "  we  should  never  get  off  these 
frightful  stairs ! " 

"  Even  that  might  have  its  compensations ! "  he 
murmured. 

"  And  we  've  been  much  longer  than  if  you  'd  let  me 
carry  it  up  myself." 

"  But  then  we  've  no  cause  for  panting  haste,  have 
we?  "  he  suggested. 

"  And  we  have  four  more  flights  to  climb." 

"  So  few !  "  he  sighed. 

"  You  see,  I  live  at  the  very  tip-top." 

"Good!"  said  he. 

At  this  she  glanced  down  at  him  over  the  sweep  of  her 
shoulder. 

"  Why  *  good  '  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Because  I  also  live  at  the  tip-top." 

"Do  you  — oh!" 

"  With  the  excellent  Mrs.  Trapes." 

"  But  I  thought  she  had  lost  her  lodger?  " 


58  The  Definite  Object 

"  She  had  the  —  er  —  extreme  good  fortune  to  find  a 
new  one  to-day." 

"Meaning  you?  " 

"  Meaning  me." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  topmost  landing, 
where  Mr.  Ravenslee  set  down  the  suit  case  almost 
reluctantly. 

"  Thank  you !  "  said  Hermione,  looking  at  him  with  her 
frank  gaze. 

"  Heaven  send  I  may  earn  your  thanks  again  —  and 
very  soon,"  he  answered,  lifting  the  battered  hat. 

"  You  did  n't  tell  me  your  name !  "  said  she,  fumbling 
in  a  well-worn  little  hand  bag  for  her  latchkey. 

"  I  am  called  Geoffrey." 

Hermione  opened  the  door  and,  taking  up  the  suit  case, 
held  out  her  hand. 

"  Good-by,  Mr.  Geoffrey !  " 

"  For  the  present !  "  said  he,  and  though  his  tone  was 
light  there  was  a  very  real  humility  in  his  attitude  as  he 
stood  bareheaded  before  her.  "  For  the  present !  "  he 
repeated. 

"  Well  —  we  are  very  near  neighbours,"  said  she,  dark 
lashes  a-droop. 

"  And  neighbourliness  is  next  to  godliness  —  is  n't  it?  " 

"Is  it?" 

"  Well,  I  think  so,  anyway  ?  So,  Miss  Hermione  —  not 
'  good-by.'  " 

She  glanced  swiftly  up  at  him,  flushed,  and  turning 
about,  was  gone.  But  even  so,  before  her  door  closed 
quite,  she  spoke  soft-voiced :  "  Good  —  evening,  Mr. 
Geoffrey !  " 

Thereafter,  for  a  space,  Mr.  Ravenslee  stood  precisely 
where  he  was,  staring  hard  at  the  battered  hat ;  jet  it  is 
not  to  be  supposed  that  the  sight  of  this  could  possibly 
have  brought  the  smile  to  his  lips,  and  into  his  eyes  a  look 
that  surely  none  had  ever  seen  there  before  —  such  a  pre 
posterously  shabby,  disreputable  old  hat!  Of  course 
not! 


CHAPTER    VIII 

OF  CANDIES  AND  CONFIDENCES 

"  OH!  "  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  so  you  've  come?  Good  land, 
Mr.  Geoffrey,  there  's  parcels  an'  packages  been  a-coming 
for  you  constant  ever  since  you  went  out !  Whatever  have 
you  been  a-buying  of?  "  And  opening  the  door  of  his 
small  bedroom,  she  indicated  divers  packages  with  a  sauce 
pan  lid  she  happened  to  be  holding. 

"  Well,"  said  her  lodger,  seating  himself  upon  the  bed, 
*'  if  I  remember  rightly,  there  are  shirts,  and  socks,  and 
paj  amas,  and  a  few  other  oddments  of  the  sort.  And  here, 
when  I  can  get  it  out  of  my  pocket,  is  a  box  of  candies.  I 
don't  know  if  you  are  fond  of  such  things,  but  most  of  the 
sex  feminine  are,  I  believe.  Pray  take  them  as  a  mark  of 
my  —  er  —  humble  respect !  " 

"  Candy ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trapes,  turning  the  gaily 
bedecked  box  over  and  over,  and  glaring  at  it  fierce-eyed. 
"  Fer  me?  " 

"  If  you  will  deign  acceptance." 

"Candy!"  she  repeated,  elbows  a- twitch.  "Fer  me? 
Land  sakes,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  I  —  I  —  "  Here,  very  ab 
ruptly,  she  turned  about  and  vanished  into  the  kitchen. 

Mr.  Ravenslee,  lounging  upon  his  white  bed,  was  taking 
languid  stock  of  his  purchases  when  Mrs.  Trapes  suddenly 
reappeared,  clutching  a  toasting  fork. 

"  Mr.  Geoffrey,"  she  said,  glaring  still,  "  them  candies 
must  ha'  cost  you  a  sight  o'  money  ?  " 

"  True,  certain  monies  were  expended,  Mrs.  Trap«s." 

"  They  must  ha'  cost  you  well  nigh  a  dollar-fifty,  I 
reckon?  " 

"  They  did !  "  nodded  Mr.  Ravenslee,  smiling. 


60  The  Definite  Object 

"  My  land ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trapes,  and  vanished 
again. 

Mr.  Ravenslee  was  sighing  over  a  hideously  striped  shirt 
when  Mrs.  Trapes  was  back  again,  flourishing  a  very  large 
tablespoon. 

"  Mr.  Geoff rey,"  said  she,  "  it  's  nigh  forty  years  since 
any  one  bought  me  a  box  o'  chocolates  !  An'  now  they  look 
so  cute  all  done  up  in  them  gold  an'  silver  wrappin's  as 
I  don't  wanter  eat  'em  —  seems  a  sin,  it  do.  But  —  Mr. 
Geoffrey  I  —  I  'd  like  to  —  thank  ye  —  "  and  lo,  she  was 
gone  again! 

Mr.  Ravenslee  had  just  pitched  the  striped  shirt  out  of 
the  window  when  behold,  Mrs.  Trapes  was  back  yet  once 
more,  this  time  grasping  a  much  battered  but  more  be- 
polished  dish  cover. 

"  Mr.  Geoffrey,"  said  she,  "  I  ain't  good  at  thankin5 
folks,  no,  I  ain't  much  on  gratitood  —  never  having  had 
much  to  gratify  over  —  but  them  candies  is  goin'  to  be 
consoomed  slow  an'  reverent  and  in  a  proper  sperrit  o' 
gratitood.  And  now  if  you  're  ready  to  eat  your  supper, 
your  supper  's  a-waitin'  to  be  ate ! " 

So  saying,  she  led  the  way  into  the  parlour,  where  upon 
a  snowy  cloth,  in  a  dish  tastefully  garnished  with  fried 
tomatoes,  the  English  mutton  chop  reposed,  making  the 
very  most  of  itself;  the  which  Mr.  Ravenslee  forthwith 
proceeded  to  attack  with  surprising  appetite  and  gusto. 

"  Is  it  tender? "  enquired  Mrs.  Trapes  anxiously. 
"  Heaven  pity  that  butcher  if  it  ain't !  Is  it  tasty,  kind 
of?  " 

"  It 's  delicious,"  nodded  her  lodger.  "  Really,  Hell's 
Kitchen  seems  to  suit  me;  I  eat  and  sleep  like  a  new 
man ! " 

"  So  you  ain't  lived  here  long,  Mr.  Geoffrey?  "  queried 
Mrs.  Trapes,  eagle-eyed. 

"  Not  long  enough  to  —  er  —  sigh  for  pastures  new. 
Don't  go,  Mrs.  Trapes,  I  love  to  hear  folks  talk ;  sit  down 
and  tell  me  tales  of  dead  kings  and  —  er  —  I  mean,  con 
verse  of  our  neighbours,  will  you?  " 


Of  Candies  and  Confidences      61 

"  I  will  so,  an'  thank  ye  kindly,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  if  you 
don't  mind  me  sucking  a  occasional  candy?  " 

"  Pray  do,  Mrs.  Trapes,"  he  said  heartily ;  whereupon, 
having  fetched  her  chocolates,  Mrs.  Trapes  ensconced 
herself  in  the  easy  chair  and  opening  the  box,  viewed  its 
contents  with  glistening  eyes. 

"  You  're  an  Englishman,  ain't  you? "  she  enquired 
after  a  while,  munching  luxuriously. 

"  No,  but  my  mother  was  born  in  England." 

"  You  don't  say !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trapes.  "  So  was 
I  —  born  in  the  Old  Kent  Road,  Mr.  Geoffrey.  I  came 
over  to  N'  York  thirty  long  years  ago  as  cook  general  to 
Hermy  Chesterton's  ma.  When  she  went  and  married 
again,  I  left  her  an'  got  married  myself  to  Trapes  —  a 
foreman,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  with  a  noble  'eart  as  'ad  wooed 
me  long ! "  Here  Mrs.  Trapes  opened  the  candy  box 
again  and,  after  long  and  careful  deliberation,  selected 
a  chocolate  with  gentle,  toil-worn  fingers,  and  putting  it  in 
her  mouth,  sighed  her  approbation.  "  They  sure  are 
good !  "  she  murmured.  "  But  talkin'  o'  Hermy  Chester 
ton's  ma,"  she  went  on  after  a  blissful  interval,  "  I  been 
wondering  where  you  came  to  meet  that  b'y  Arthur?  " 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Trapes,"  sighed  Ravenslee,  leaning  back 
in  his  chair  and  shaking  a  rueful  head,  "  you  touch  on 
gloomy  matters.  As  the  story  books  say,  '  thereby  hangs 
a  tale  '  —  the  dismal  tale  of  a  miserable  wretch  whose 
appetite  was  bad,  whose  sleep  was  worse,  and  whose 
temper  was  worst  of  all  —  oh,  a  very  wretched  wretch 
indeed !  " 

"  My  land !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trapes,  stopping  abruptly 
in  the  act  of  masticating  a  large  chocolate  walnut,  "  so 
bad  as  that,  Mr.  Geoffrey?  " 

"  Worse !  "  he  nodded  gloomily.  "  It  is  indeed  a  gloomy 
tale,  a  tale  dark  and  dismal  that  I  love  not  the  telling  of, 
for,  Mrs.  Trapes,  that  more  than  hopeless  wretch  stands, 
or  rather  sits,  before  you !  " 

"  Save  us !  "  ej  aculated  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  meanin'  your 
self  ?  " 


62  The  Definite  Object 

"  My  unworthy  self !  " 

"  Lord!  "  she  whispered,  "  what  you  been  a-doin'  of?  " 

"  Wasting  a  promising  life,  Mrs.  Trapes !  " 

"  You  mean,"  she  questioned  in  a  harsh  whisper,  "  you 
mean  as  you  've  —  killed  some  one  —  accidental  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  the  life  was  mine  own,  Mrs.  Trapes." 

"  Land  sakes,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  you  give  me  quite  a  turn ! 
Y'  see,  sometimes  folks  gets  theirselves  killed  around  here 
—  an'  it 's  always  accidental  —  sure !  "  and  Mrs.  Trapes 
nodded  meaningly  and  went  on  chewing.  "  But  say,"  she 
demanded,  suddenly  sharp  of  eye,  "  where  does  Arthur 
come  in?  " 

"  Arthur  comes  in  right  here,  Mrs.  Trapes !  In  fact, 
Arthur  broke  into  my  —  er  —  life  just  when  things  were 
at  their  darkest  generally.  Arthur  found  me  very  de 
pressed  and  gloomy.  Arthur  taught  me  that  life  might 
yet  have  its  uses.  Arthur  lifted  me  out  of  the  Slough  of 
Despond.  Arthur  brought  me  —  to  you !  And  behold ! 
life  is  good  and  perchance  shall  be  even  better  if  —  ah 
yes,  if!  So  you  see,  my  dear  Mrs.  Trapes,  Arthur  has 
done  much  for  me,  consequently  I  have  much  to  thank 
Arthur  for.  Indeed,  I  look  upon  Arthur  —  " 

"  Shucks !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  that  '11  be  about 
enough  about  Arthur  —  Arthur,  indeed !  You  oughter 
know  his  sister !  "  Now  at  this  her  lodger  started  and 
glanced  at  her  so  suddenly,  and  with  eyes  so  unexpectedly 
keen  that  once  again  she  suspended  mastication. 

"  Now,  in  the  name  of  all  that 's  wonderful,  Mrs. 
Trapes,  why  mention  her?  " 

"  Why,  because  she  's  worth  knowin' !  Because  she  's 
the  best,  the  bravest,  the  sweetest  thing  that  ever  went  in 
petticoats.  She  's  beautiful  inside  and  out  —  mind,  I  've 
nursed  her  in  these  arms  years  ago  an'  I  know  she  's  — 
oh,  well,  you  ought  to  meet  Hermy !  " 

"  Mrs.  Trapes,  I  have !  " 

"Eh?  You  have?  My  Ian'!"  Mrs.  Trapes  bolted  a 
caramel  in  her  astonishment  and  thereafter  stared  at 
Ravenslee  with  watering  eyes.  "  An'  you  to  set  there  an" 


Of  Candies  and  Confidences     63 

never  tell  me !  "  quoth  she,  "  an'  Hermy  never  told  me  — 
well,  well!  When  did  ye  meet  her?  Whereabouts? 
How?  " 

"About  half  an  hour  ago!  Coming  up  the  stairs!  I 
carried  her  grip !  " 

"  Well !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trapes,  staring,  "  well,  well !  " 
and  she  continued  to  munch  candy  and  to  stare  and  say 
"  well !  "  at  intervals  until  arrested  by  a  new  thought. 
"  That  b'y !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Was  Arthur  with  her?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Ravenslee,  wrinkling  his  brows,  "  I 
lost  him  on  my  way  home." 

Mrs.  Trapes  sighed  and  shook  her  head. 

"  The  sun  sure  rises  and  sets  for  her  in  that  b'y  —  an' 
him  only  her  stepbrother  at  that !  " 

"  Her  stepbrother?  " 

"  Yes  !  "  nodded  Mrs.  Trapes  emphatically.  "  Hermy's 
ma  were  a  lady,  same  as  Hermy  is ;  so  were  her  pa,  I 
mean  a  gentleman,  of  course.  But  Hermy's  father  died, 
an'  then  her  ma,  poor  soul,  goes  an'  marries  a  good-lookin' 
loafer  way  beneath  her,  a  man  as  were  n't  fit  to  black  her 
shoes,  let  alone  take  'em  off !  And  Arthur  's  his  father's 
child.  Oh,  a  good  enough  b'y  as  b'ys  go,  but  wild,  now 
and  then,  and  rough,  like  his  dad." 

"  I  see !  "  nodded  her  hearer,  thoughtfully. 

"  Now  me,  though  married  ten  long  year,  never  'ad  no 
children,  so  ever  since  Hermy's  mother  died,  I  've  tried  to 
watch  over  her  and  help  her  as  much  as  I  could.  She  's 
had  a  mighty  hard  struggle,  one  thing  and  another,  Mr. 
Geoffrey,  an'  now  I  've  known  her  an'  loved  her  so  long  it 
kind  o'  seems  as  if  she  belonged  to  me  —  almost !  " 

*'  She  looks  very  good  and  —  brave !  "  said  Mr.  Ra 
venslee. 

"  Good ! "  cried  Mrs.  Trapes,  and  snorted.  "  I  tell 
you  she's  jest  a  angel  o'  light,  Mr.  Geoffrey.  If  you'd 
seen  her,  like  I  have,  goin'  from  one  poor  little  sick  child 
to  another,  kissing  their  little  hot  faces,  tellin'  'em  stories, 
payin'  for  doctor's  stuff  out  of  her  bit  o'  savings,  mendin' 
their  clo'es  —  an'  prajin'  over  'em  when  they  died  —  why 


64  The  Definite  Object 

—  I  guess  you  'd  think  she  was  a  angel  too !  One  sure 
thing,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes  rising,  "  there  ain't  a  breathin* 
man  in  all  this  whole  round  earth  as  is  fit  to  go  down  on 
'is  knees  an'  kiss  'er  little  foot  —  not  a  one !  No,  sir !  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  there  is ! "  said  Mr.  Ravenslee 
slowly. 

"  As  for  that  Bud  M'Ginnis,"  cried  Mrs.  Trapes,  seiz 
ing  on  the  coffee-pot  much  as  if  it  had  been  that  gentle 
man's  throat,  "  I  'd  —  I  'd  like  to  —  bat  him  one  as  would 
quiet  him  for  keeps  —  I  would  so!"  and  she  jerked  the 
coffee-pot  fiercely,  much  to  the  detriment  of  her  snowy 
tablecloth.  "  There !  now  see  what  I  done,  but  I  do  get 
all  worked  up  over  that  loafer ! " 

"  Pray  why?  " 

"  Why  ?  "  snorted  Mrs.  Trapes  indignantly.  "  Has  n't 
he  made  eyes  at  her  ever  since  they  was  kids  together? 
Has  n't  he  worried  and  worried  at  her,  an'  because  she 
won't  look  at  him  if  she  can  help  it,  don't  he  try  to  get 
back  at  her  through  that  b'y  —  " 

"How  does  he?" 

"  How?  By  puttin'  him  up  to  fightin'  an'  all  sorts  o' 
devilment,  by  teachin'  him  to  be  tough,  by  gettin'  him 
drunk  —  " 

"Oh,  does  he?" 

"  Why,  bless  ye,  Bud  M'Ginnis  can  do  anything  with 
him!" 

"How  so?" 

"  Because  Arthur  jest  worships  M'Ginnis  for  his 
strength  and  toughness !  " 

"  I  see !  " 

"  Yes,  Arthur  thinks  there  's  nobody  in  the  world  could 
lick  Bud  M'Ginnis." 

"  Hum !    May  I  smoke,  Mrs.  Trapes  ?  " 

"  Sure  ye  may ! "  she  nodded,  and  began  to  collect  the 
supper  things.  "  I  tell  you  what,"  she  exclaimed  sud 
denly,  flourishing  the  fork  she  had  just  taken  up,  "  if 
somebody  would  only  come  along  an'  thrash  M'Ginnis, 
thrash  him  good,  it  would  be  a  sight  better  for  every  one 


Of  Candies  and  Confidences     65 

around  here  —  it  would  so !  M'Ginnis  is  always  maldn' 
trouble  for  some  one  or  other,  an'  there  ain't  a  man  big 
enough  or  got  heart  enough  to  stand  up  to  him  —  not 
even  Spider  Connolly.  Wish  I  was  a  man,  that 's  all  — 
just  for  an  hour!  Ah!"  Here  Mrs.  Trapes  snorted 
fiercer  than  usual,  and  the  jut  of  her  elbows  was  deadly. 

"  And  he  gets  Arthur  drunk,  does  he ! "  said  Ravenslee, 
puffing  dreamily  at  his  pipe. 

"  Yes !  "  sighed  Mrs.  Trapes  as  she  loaded  a  tray  with 
the  supper  things.  "  Hermy  *s  seen  him  drunk  twice,  to 
my  knowing,  an'  I  thought  it  would  break  her  'eart,  poor 
dear !  Y'  see,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  his  father  died  o'  the  drink, 
an'  she  's  frightened  for  fear  Arthur  should  go  the  same 
road.  Oh,  Hermy's  life  ain't  all  ice-cream  sodas  an'  lolli 
pops,  not  much  it  ain't,  poor,  brave,  beautiful  thing !  " 

Saying  which,  Mrs.  Trapes,  sighing  again,  took  up  her 
tray;  Mr.  Ravenslee,  having  opened  the  door  for  her, 
closed  it  again,  lighted  his  pipe,  and  sinking  into  the  easy- 
chair,  fell  into  frowning  thought. 

The  windows  were  open,  and  from  the  crowded  court 
below  rose  the  shrill  babel  of  many  children's  voices,  elfin 
shrieks  and  cries  accompanied  by  the  jingle  of  a  barrel- 
organ,  very  wiry  and  very  much  out  of  tune;  but  Ra 
venslee,  deep-plunged  in  thought,  heard  nought  of  it  nor 
heeded  the  fact  that  the  pipe,  tight-clenched  between  his 
strong,  white  teeth,  was  out.  For  Geoffrey  Ravenslee  had 
set  himself  a  problem. 

The  barrel-organ  ceased  its  jangle,  the  children's  voices 
were  gradually  hushed,  as,  one  by  one,  they  were  called  in 
by  hoarse-voiced  mothers  and  led  away  to  bed;  and  the 
gloomy  court  grew  ever  gloomier  as  evening  deepened  into 
night.  But  still  Mr.  Ravenslee  lounged  in  the  easy-chair, 
so  motionless  that  he  might  have  been  asleep  except  for  the 
grim  set  of  his  jaw  and  the  bright,  wide-open  eyes  of  him. 

At  last,  and  suddenly,  he  sat  erect,  for  he  had  heard 
a  voice  whose  soft  murmur  he  recognised  even  through 
the  closed  door. 

"  I  don't  know,  Hermy  dear,"  came  in  Mrs.  Trapes' 


66  The  Definite  Object 

harsh  tones,  "  I  'm  afraid  he  's  gone  to  bed  —  anyway, 
I  '11  see ! "  Ensued  a  knocking  of  bony  knuckles  and, 
opening  the  door,  Ravenslee  beheld  Mrs.  Trapes.  Behind 
her  stood  Hermione,  and  in  her  eyes  he  saw  again  that 
look  of  wistful,  anxious  fear  he  had  wondered  over  at  the 
first. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Geoffrey,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  it 's  eleven 
o'clock,  an'  that  b'y  ain't  in  yet.  Here  's  Hermy  been 
out  hunting  the  streets  for  him  and  ain't  found  him. 
Consequently  she  's  worriting  herself  sick  over  him  —  drat 
'im!" 

"  Out  on  the  streets !  "  repeated  Ravenslee.    "  Alone?  '* 

"  Yes,"  answered  Hermione,  "  I  had  to  —  try  and  find 
him." 

"  But  alone !  And  at  this  hour !  Miss  Hermione,  that 
was  surely  very  —  er — unwise  of  you." 

"  Yes,  you  see  I  did  n't  know  where  to  look,"  she 
sighed.  "  I  've  been  to  the  saloon  but  he  was  n't  there  —  " 

"  The  saloon  ?  Good  Lord !  "  exclaimed  Ravenslee,  his 
placidity  quite  forgotten,  his  face  set  and  stern.  "  That 
is  no  place  for  you  —  or  any  girl  —  " 

"  I  must  go  to  find  Arthur,"  she  said  softly. 

"  No,  not  there  —  even  for  that." 

"  Why  not?  " 

"  Think  of  the  —  the  risks  you  run !  No  girl  should 
take  such  chances." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  —  that !  "  said  Hermione,  meeting  his 
eyes  with  her  frank  glance.  "  But  no  one  would  try  to 
insult  me  hereabouts ;  this  is  n't  Broadway  or  Fifth  Ave 
nue,  Mr.  Geoffrey !  "  and  she  smiled  a  very  sad,  weary 
little  smile.  "  But  I  came  to  ask  if  you  happened  to  know 
where  Arthur  is  or  —  whom  he  was  with?  " 

"  Was  n't  wid  that  Bud  M'Ginnis,  was  he?  "  questioned 
Mrs.  Trapes  sharply. 

"  No,  he  was  n't  with  M'Ginnis,"  answered  Mr.  Ra 
venslee,  in  frowning  perplexity,  *'  but  that 's  about  all  I 
can  tell  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  sighed  the  girl,  "  I  must  go  and  try 


Of  Candies  and  Confidences      67 

again.  I  know  I  shall  find  him  —  soon."  But,  though 
she  tried  to  speak  in  a  tone  of  cheerful  confidence,  her 
shapely  head  drooped  rather  hopelessly. 

"  You  mean  you  are  going  out  on  to  the  —  to  look 
for  him  again?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,"  she  answered,  "  I  must  find 
Arthur !  " 

"  Don't,  Hermy,  don't  —  so  pale  an'  tired  as  you  are, 
don't  go  again !  "  pleaded  Mrs.  Trapes,  her  usual  sharp 
ness  transfigured  into  a  deep  and  yearning  tenderness ; 
even  her  voice  seemed  to  lose  something  of  its  harshness. 
"  Don't  worry,  my  sweet,  the  b'y  '11  find  his  way  home 
right  enough,  like  he  did  last  time." 

"  Like  —  last  time !  "  cried  Hermione,  and  shivering, 
she  leaned  against  the  wall  as  if  she  were  faint.  "  Ah,  no, 
no  !  "  she  whispered,  "  not  —  like  last  time !  "  and  bowing 
her  head  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

Close,  close  about  that  quivering  form  came  two 
motherly  arms,  and  Mrs.  Trapes  fell  to  passionate  invec 
tive  and  tender  soothing,  thus: 

"  There,  there,  my  love  —  my  pretty,  don't  remember 
that  last  time!  Oh,  drat  my  fool's  tongue  for  remindin* 
you,  drat  it,  my  dear,  my  honey!  Ah,  don't  go  breakin* 
your  angel's  'eart  along  of  Arthur,  my  precious  —  and 
drat  him  too !  That  b'y  '11  come  back  all  right,  he  will  — 
he  will,  I  know  he  will.  Oh,  if  I  was  only  behind  'im  with 
a  toasting  fork!  There,  there,  Hermy  dear,  don't  fret, 
Arthur  '11  come  home  all  right.  My  honey,  you  're  all 
tuckered  out,  an'  here  it 's  gettin'  on  to  midnight,  an'  you 
to  go  to  Englewood  by  the  early  car!  Go  to  bed,  dear, 
an'  I  '11  sit  up  for  Arthur.  Only  don't  cry,  Hermy  —  " 

"  Oh,  I  'm  not  crying,  dear,"  said  Hermione,  lifting  her 
head.  "  See,  I  have  n't  shed  a  tear !  But  I  must  find 
Arthur.  I  could  n't  rest  or  sleep ;  I  should  lie  listening 
for  his  step.  So  you  see,  dear,  I  must  go  out  and  find 
him !  " 

Hereupon,  with  swift,  dexterous  fingers,  Hermione 
straightened  the  very  neat  hat  which  the  embrace  of  Mrs. 


68  The  Definite  Object 

Trapes  had  rendered  somewhat  askew,  and,  turning  to 
the  door,  came  face  to  face  with  Mr.  Ravenslee,  and  in  his 
hand  she  beheld  his  battered  hat,  but  she  did  not  notice 
how  fiercely  his  powerful  fingers  gripped  it. 

"  Miss  Hermione,"  said  he,  in  his  soft,  indolent  voice, 
and  regarding  her  beneath  languidly  drooping  lids,  "  pray 
accept  the  hospitality  of  my  —  er  —  apartment.  You 
will  find  the  easy-chair  is  very  easy,  and  while  you  sit. 
here  with  Mrs.  Trapes,  I  '11  find  your  brother  and  bring 
him  here  to  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  answered  a  little  shortly  because  of 
his  la/y  tone  or  his  sleepy  eyes,  or  his  general  languid  air, 
or  all  of  them  together.  "  Thank  you,  but  I  'm  going 
myself ;  I  must  go,  I  —  I  could  n't  wait  —  " 

"  Oh,  but  really  you  must,  you  know !  " 

"  Must?  "  she  repeated,  looking  her  surprise. 

"  Ab-solutely  must ! "  he  answered  softly,  nodding  so 
sleepily  that  she  almost  expected  him  to  yawn.  "  You 
really  can't  go  out  again  to-night,  you  know,"  he  added. 
Hermione's  blue  eyes  flashed,  her  delicate  brows  knit  them 
selves,  and  Mr.  Ravenslee  saw  that  she  was  taller  than 
he  had  thought. 

"  You  mean  you  will  —  try  to  stop  me  ? "  she 
demanded. 

"  No,  I  mean  that  I  —  will  stop  you !  " 

"  But  you  'd  never  dare  —  " 

"  I  would  dare  even  your  anger  in  so  good  a  cause. 
Ah,  please  don't  be  angry  with  me,  Miss  Hermione,  be 
cause  —  "  and  here  his  sleepy  voice  grew  positively  slum 
berous,  "  you  shall  not  go  out  into  the  streets  again 
to-night ! " 

"  Ah,  an'  that 's  right  too,  Mr.  Geoffrey !  "  cried  Mrs. 
Trapes.  "  Hermy  needs  some  one  strong  enough  to  mas 
ter  her  now  an'  then,  she  is  that  wilful,  she  is  so !  " 

But  now  all  at  once,  as  he  watched,  Hermione's  eyes 
filled  with  great,  slow-gathering  tears,  her  firm-set  lips 
grew  soft  and  quivered  pitifully,  and  she  sank  down  in 
the  easy-chair,  her  golden  head  bowed  upon  the  green  and 


Of  Candies  and  Confidences      69 

yellow  tablecloth.  The  battered  hat  tumbled  to  the  floor, 
and  striding  forward,  he  had  bent  and  caught  one  of  her 
listless  hands  all  in  a  moment,  and  thereafter,  though  it 
struggled  feebly  once,  he  held  it  closely  prisoned  in  his 
own. 

"  Oh,  don't ! "  he  pleaded,  his  words  coming  quick  and 
eager,  "  don't  do  that !  Do  you  think  I  can't  see  that 
you  're  all  overwrought?  How  can  I  let  you  go  tramping 
out  there  in  the  streets  again  ?  You  could  n't  go  —  you 
must  n't  go !  Stay  here  with  good  Mrs.  Trapes,  I  beg  of 
you,  and  I  swear  I  '11  bring  Arthur  to  you !  Only  you 
must  promise  me  to  wait  here  and  be  patient,  however 
long  I  am  —  you  must  promise,  Hermione !  " 

She  lifted  her  heavy  head  and  looked  at  him  through 
her  tears.  And  surely,  surely  in  the  face  that  bent  above 
her  was  none  of  indolence  or  languor.  These  lips  were 
firm  now  and  close-set,  these  lazy  eyes  were  wide  and 
bright,  and  in  them  that  which  brought  the  warm  colour 
to  her  cheeks ;  but  reverence  was  there  also,  wherefore  she 
met  his  look,  and  her  fingers  were  not  withdrawn  from 
his  until  she  had  answered :  "  I  promise !  " 

"  That 's  my  wise  dearie !  "  nodded  Mrs.  Trapes.  "  And 
good  luck  to  ye,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  an'  when  you  find  that  b'y, 
say  as  I  wish  —  ah,  how  I  wish  I  was  back  of  him  with 
a  toasting  fork,  that 's  all !  " 

Mr.  Ravenslee  caught  up  the  shabby  hat,  opened  the 
door,  and  going  out,  closed  it  softly  behind  him. 

"  Hermy,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  clasping  the  girl's  slender 
waist  in  her  long  arm  and  leading  her  into  the  brightest 
of  bright  little  kitchens,  "  I  like  that  young  feller  —  who 
he  is  I  don't  know,  what  he  does  I  don't  know,  but  what 
he  is  I  do  know,  an'  that 's  —  a  man,  my  dear !  An'  he 
called  you  —  Hermione !  Sounds  kind  o'  pretty  the  way 
he  says  it,  don't  you  think?"  But  Hermione  didn't 
answer. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Ravenslee,  descending  the  monotonous 
stairs,  paused  suddenly  to  smile  and  to  clap  hand  to 
thigh. 


yo  The  Definite  Object 

"  A  toasting  fork !  "  said  he,  "  a  toasting  fork  is  an 
instrument  possessing  three  or  more  sharp  points !  Ha ! 
Mrs.  Trapes  is  a  woman  of  singularly  apposite  ideas." 
And  he  smiled  a  little  grimly  as  he  went  on  down  the 
stairs. 


CHAPTER    IX 

WHICH   RECOUNTS   THE   END   OF  AN   EPISODE 

MIDWAY  down  he  beheld  two  burly  policemen  who  mounted, 
one  behind  the  other,  their  grey  helmets,  blue  coats,  and 
silver  buttons  seeming  to  fill  the  narrow  stairway. 

"  Anything  wrong?  "  he  enquired,  as  they  drew  level. 

"  Not  wid  you  dis  time,  bo !  "  answered  one,  blandly 
contemptuous,  and  strode  on  up  the  stair,  twirling  his 
club  in  practised  hand,  his  fellow  officer  at  his  heels. 

Thus  rebuked,  Mr.  Ravenslee  looked  after  them  with 
quick-drawn  brows  until,  remembering  his  broken  hat  brim 
and  shabby  clothes,  he  smiled  and  went  upon  his  way. 
Reaching  the  dingy  lower  hall  he  beheld  the  solitary  gas- 
jet  flare  whose  feeble  light  showed  five  lounging  forms, 
rough  fellows  who  talked  together  in  hoarse  murmurs  and 
with  heads  close  together. 

He  was  passing  by,  when,  in  one  of  these  deep-throated 
talkers,  he  recognised  the  long  limbs  and  wide,  sloping 
shoulders  of  the  Spider.  Mr.  Ravenslee  paused  and 
nodded. 

"  Good  evening !  "  said  he,  but  this  time  kept  his  hands 
in  his  pockets.  The  Spider  eyed  him  somewhat  askance, 
shifted  his  wad  of  chewing  gum  from  one  cheek  to  the 
other,  and  spoke. 

"  'Lo !  "  said  he. 

"  Do  you  know  where  Spike  is  ?  " 

"  S'pose  I  do  —  then  what?  "  demanded  the  Spider  with 
a  truculent  lurch  of  his  wide  shoulders. 

"  Then  I  shall  ask  you  to  tell  me  where  I  can  find  him 
—  or  better  still,  you  might  show  me." 


72  The  Definite  Object 

"  Oh,  might  I?  " 

"You  might!" 

The  feelings  of  the  Spider  waxing  beyond  mere  words, 
he  looked  at  the  speaker,  viewed  him  up  and  down  with  a 
glance  of  contemptuous  hostility,  whereat  Ravenslee's 
whole  expression  melted  into  one  of  lamblike  meekness. 

"  Say,"  quoth  the  Spider  at  last,  "  there  's  only  one 
thing  as  I  can't  stand  about  you,  an'  that 's  —  every 
thing!" 

*'  Sorry  for  that,"  murmured  Ravenslee,  "  because  I 
rather  like  you,  Spider.  I  think  you  could  be  quite  a 
decent  fellow  if  you  tried  very  hard!  Come,  shake  your 
grouch  and  let 's  be  friends." 

"  Say,"  growled  the  Spider,  "  what  you  're  sufferin' 
from  's  a  hard  neck !  You  ain't  no  friend  o'  mine  —  not 
much  you  ain't,  savvy?  So  crank  up  an'  get  on  yer  way 
like  a  good  little  feller !  " 

"  But  you  see  I  'm  anxious  to  find  Spike  because  —  " 

"  Well,  say,  you  keep  on  bein'  anxious,  only  do  it  some- 
wheres  else.  I  don't  want  youse  around  where  I  am,  see? 
So  beat  it  while  d'  goin  's  good !  " 

"  Why  —  er  —  no,"  said  Ravenslee  in  his  laziest  tones, 
"  no,  I  don't  think  I  '11  beat  it.  I  guess  I  '11  stay  right 
here  and  wait  until  you  are  so  kind,  so  —  er  —  very  kind 
and  obliging  as  to  show  me  where  I  can  find  Spike."  And 
he  sighed  plaintively  as  he  lounged  against  the  wall  be 
hind,  but  his  eyes  were  surprisingly  bright  and  quick  be 
neath  the  shadow  of  the  battered  hat. 

"  Hully  Chee!"  exclaimed  the  Spider,  expectorating 
contemptuously,  "  hark  to  the  flossy-boy,  fellers !  Aw, 
run  away,  now !  "  said  he,  scowling  suddenly,  "  run  away 
before  ye  get  slapped  on  th'  wrist !  "  and,  while  divers  of 
his  companions  laughed  hoarsely,  he  turned  a  contemptu 
ous  back  on  Mr.  Ravenslee.  But  even  then  he  was  seized 
in  iron  fingers  that  clutched  his  shoulder  and,  in  that 
painful  grip,  was  jerked  suddenly  around  again  to  behold 
a  face  vicious-eyed,  thin-lipped,  square-jawed,  fiercely  out- 
thrust.  Recognising  the  "  fighting-face ",  the  Spider, 


The  End  of  an  Episode          73 

being  a  fighter  of  a  large  and  varied  experience,  immedi 
ately  "  covered  up  ",  and  fell  into  that  famous  crouch  of 
his  that  had  proved  the  undoing  of  so  many  doughty 
fighters  ere  now.  Then,  like  a  flash,  his  long  arm  shot  out, 
but  in  that  same  instant,  Ravenslee,  timing  the  blow  to  a 
fraction,  moved  slightly,  and  the  Spider's  knuckles  bruised 
themselves  against  the  wall  at  the  precise  moment  that 
Ravenslee's  open  hand  flipped  lightly  on  the  side  of  the 
Spider's  square,  lean  jaw. 

The  Spider  drew  back,  staring  from  Ravenslee's  tall, 
alert  figure  to  his  bruised  knuckles  and  back  again,  while 
his  companions  stood  by  in  mute  and  wide-eyed  wonder. 

"  Spider,"  said  Ravenslee,  shaking  his  head  in  grave 
reproof,  "  you  were  rather  slow  that  time  —  very  foolish 
to  leave  your  point  uncovered  and  offer  me  your  jaw  like 
that,  you  know !  " 

Five  pairs  of  eyes  stared  at  the  speaker  with  a  new  and 
suddenly  awakened  interest,  and  beholding  in  him  that 
lithe  assurance  of  poise,  that  indefinable  air  that  bespeaks 
the  trained  pugilist  and  which  cannot  be  mistaken,  elbows 
were  nudged,  and  heads  wagged  knowingly. 

Ravenslee's  grey  eyes  were  shining,  and  his  pale  cheeks 
tinged  with  colour. 

"  Ah,  Spider,"  said  he,  "  life  is  rather  worth  while  after 
all,  is  n't  it?  Spider,  I  like  you  better  and  better;  come, 
don't  be  a  surly  Spider,  shake  hands !  " 

"  T'  hell  wid  youse !  "  growled  the  Spider,  covering  up 
again,  and,  though  his  face  was  sulky  yet  was  no  trace 
of  contempt  there  now. 

"  I  suppose,"  mused  Ravenslee,  looking  him  over  with 
knowledgeful  eye,  "yes,  I  judge,  as  you  are  now,  you  would 
fight  about  seven  or  eight  pounds  over  your  ringside 
weight.  You  'd  have  to  give  me  eighteen  pounds  !  Spider 
—  I  could  eat  you !  Come,  shake  hands  and  let 's  go  and 
fetch  Spike." 

Now,  speaking,  Ravenslee  smiled,  with  eyes  as  well  as 
lips;  beholding  which,  the  Spider  grew  slowly  upright, 
his  knotted  fists  unclenched,  and,  staring  Ravenslee  in  the 


74  The  Definite  Object 

eyes,  he  reached  out  slowly  and  by  degrees  and  grasped 
the  proffered  hand. 

"  Say,"  said  he,  falling  to  violent  mastication  of  his 
eternal  chewing  gum,  "  who  'd  you  have  d'  mitts  on  with 
last  —  an'  when?  " 

"  Oh,  it  seems  ages  ago ! "  sighed  Ravenslee.  "  But 
where  's  Spike  ?  " 

"  Say,  bo,  who  wants  him,  an'  whaffor?  Spike  's  me 
pal,  see,  so  I  jest  shore  wants  ter  savvy  who  wants  him  an' 
why?" 

"  His  sister  —  " 

"  Hully  Chee!  Why  didn't  youse  say  so  at  first? 
When  Miss  Hermione  wants  anything  she  's  gotta  have  it, 
I  guess!  Ain't  that  right,  fellers?" 

"  You  bet,"  chimed  the  four. 

"  So  if  she  wants  d'  Kid,  I  guess  I  '11  jest  have  to  fetch 
him  for  her.  Come  on,  bo !  S'  long,  fellers  !  " 

Hereupon,  having  acknowledged  the  friendly  salutes  of 
the  four,  Ravenslee  followed  the  Spider  out  into  the 
court,  empty  now  and  silent. 

"  Say,  bo,  where  'd  you  meet  up  wid  Spike,  anyway  ?  " 
enquired  the  Spider,  as  they  strode  along  Tenth  Avenue. 
"  You  don't  belong  around  here,  do  ye  ?  " 

"  No.     Do  you  know  where  he  was  last  night  ?  " 

"  You  can  search  me,  bo.  All  I  savvy  is  he  was  off  on 
some  frame-up  or  other." 

"Who  with?" 

"Well  — not  wid  me." 

"Did  you  see  any  one  with  him  besides  M'Ginnis  at 
O'Rourke's?" 

"  No,  there  was  only  them  two." 

"Ah,  I  guessed  as  much,"  said  Ravenslee,  nodding; 
"  he  went  away  with  M'Ginnis  —  good !  " 

"  Say,  bo,"  questioned  the  Spider  when  they  had  gone 
some  way  in  silence,  "  I  ain't  seen  you  fight  anywheres, 
have  I?" 

"  No,  but  I  've  seen  you,  Spider.  I  saw  you  beat  Larry 
McKinnon  at  'Frisco." 


The  End  of  an  Episode          75 

"  Which  sure  was  some  fight !  "  nodded  the  Spider. 
"Them  half-arm  jolts  of  his  sure  shook  me  some;  he'd 
have  got  me  in  th'  third  if  I  had  n't  clinched." 

"  He  was  a  terror  at  in-fighting." 

"  He  sure  was,  bo !  " 

"  It  was  your  j  abbing  and  footwork  won  you  the  fight, 
Spider,  one  of  the  best  I  've  ever  seen  —  very  little  clinch 
ing  and  clean  breakaways." 

"  Larry  sure  was  game  all  through,  yes  —  right  up  to 
the  knock-out.  A  good,  clean  fighter.  'N'  say,  bo,  I  was 
real  sorry  to  see  him  counted  out." 

"  It  meant  a  big  purse  for  you,  I  remember." 

"  Oh,  sure,  I  had  money  to  burn.  I  ain't  got  much  left 
now,  though,"  said  the  Spider  ruefully. 

*'  You  came  pretty  near  being  a  world's  champion, 
Spider." 

"Aw  —  jest  near  enough  t'  miss  it,  I  guess.  Talkin* 
o*  champeens,  the  greatest  of  'em,  th'  best  fightin'  man 
as  ever  swung  a  mitt,  I  reckon  was  Joe  Madden,  as  retired 
years  ago.  Nobody  could  ever  lick  Joe  Madden." 

"  Did  you  know  him?  " 

"  Not  me,  bo,  I  was  n't  in  his  class.  But  I  seen  him  fight 
years  ago." 

"  Do  you  think  Spike  will  ever  make  a  champion  ?  "  en 
quired  Ravenslee  suddenly.  "  I  mean  if  he  were  given 
every  chance?  " 

"  Well,"  answered  the  Spider  slowly,  "  he  sure  has  the 
grit ;  ther  ain't  nothin'  on  two  legs  he  's  afraid  of  except 
—  himself,  bo.  He 's  too  high-strung.  Nerves  is  his 
trouble,  I  reckon.  Why,  Chee!  When  he  's  in  d'  ring  he 
can't  be  still  a  minute,  can't  let  himself  rest  between 
rounds,  see?  He  kinder  beats  himself,  I  guess." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  nodded  Ravenslee,  "  and 
I  'm  sure  you  're  right.  By  the  way,  have  you  ever  seen 
M'Ginnis  fight?  " 

"  I  seen  him  scrap  once  or  twice  —  he  's  sure  ugly  in  a 
rough-house,  but  in  th'  ring  —  well,  I  dunno !  " 

"  Has  he  a  punch?  " 


7 6  The  Definite  Object 

"  Bo,  he  's  got  a  sleep-pill  in  each  mitt  if  —  if  he  can 
land  his  wallop  right!  Yes,  siree,  if  Bud  can  hit  a  guy 
where  it  '11  do  most  good,  that  guy  's  sure  goin'  to  forget 
his  cares  an'  troubles  for  a  bit.  But  he  's  slow  an'  heavy, 
Bud  is,  though  I  ain't  never  seen  him  mix  it  in  th'  ring, 
mind." 

"  H'm,"  said  Ravenslee  thoughtfully,  "  M'Ginnis  seems 
to  have  it  all  his  own  way  around  here  —  why?  " 

"  Well,  because  Bud  's  Bud,  an'  because  Bud's  old  man 
is  a  Tammany  boss  —  which  gives  Bud  a  big  pull  wid 
d'  police.  'Nuff  said,  I  guess." 

"  Quite ! "  nodded  Ravenslee,  and  walked  thereafter 
deeper  in  thought  than  ever.  "  Where  are  you  taking 
me?  "  he  enquired,  as  they  turned  a  sudden  corner. 

"  To  d'  river !  " 

"  This  is  Eleventh  Avenue,  then?  " 

"Yep!"  Watch  out  you  don't  trip  on  d' railroad 
tracks."  And  now  the  Spider  seemed  to  have  become 
thoughtful  also,  and  somewhat  gloomy,  judging  by  his 
face  as  seen  by  an  occasional  feeble  light  as  they  trav 
ersed  the  unlovely  thoroughfare. 

"  Bo,"  said  he  suddenly,  "  I  'm  thinkin'  there  's  some 
guys  m  this  world  as  would  be  better  out  of  it.  I  'm 
thinkin'  of  some  guy  as  got  a  little  girl  into  trouble  —  an' 
left  her  to  it.  Her  kid  died,  an'  her  folks  turned  her 
out,  an'  she  'd  have  died  too,  I  guess,  if  it  had  n't  been  for 
Miss  Hermione  an'  old  Mother  Trapes  —  ye  see,  she  was 
all  alone,  poor  little  kid !  Now  a  man  as  would  treat  a  girl 
that  ways  ain't  got  no  right  t'  live,  I  reckon.  I  should 
like  t'  know  who  that  guy  was !  I  should  like  t'  meet 
that  guy  —  once !  " 

After  this  the  Spider  became  more  gloomy  than  ever  and 
spoke  only  in  surly  monosyllables.  Suddenly  he  turned 
off  along  a  narrow,  ill-lighted  alleyway  that  led  them 
between  divers  small  mean  houses  and  tall,  dark  ware 
houses  and  brought  them  suddenly  out  upon  the  misty 
foreshore  beyond  which  the  dim  and  mighty  river  flowed. 
On  they  went,  the  Spider's  depression  growing  perceptibly, 


The  End  of  an  Episode          77 

until  at  last  their  feet  trod  the  rough  planking  of  a 
narrow  causeway  which  ended  in  a  dark,  raft-like  struc 
ture  moored  out  in  the  river.  Here  was  a  small  and  dis 
mal  shack  from  whose  solitary  window  a  feeble  ray  of 
light  beamed. 

Ravenslee  shivered  suddenly  and  stopped  to  stare  about 
him  while  his  listless  hands  changed  to  tight-clenched  fists. 

What  was  it? 

What  was  there  about  this  dismal,  silent  place  that 
seemed  to  leap  at  him  all  at  once  from  the  dimness,  he 
knew  not  whence?  Was  it  the  shack  with  its  solitary 
light,  or  the  broad  river  lapping  with  soft  sighings  and 
low  weeping  sounds  among  the  piles  below,  or  was  it  some 
thing  in  the  altered  aspect  of  the  guiding  figure  that  led 
him  forward,  slow  and  ever  slower,  as  if  with  dragging 
feet,  and  yet  with  feet  that  trod  so  softly? 

"  Spider,"  said  he  at  last,  speaking  in  hushed  and 
breathless  manner,  "  Spider  —  where  are  we?  "  and  speak 
ing  he  shivered  again,  even  while  his  clenched  hand  wiped 
the  sweat  from  his  brow.  The  Spider  made  no  answer,  for 
the  feeble  light  was  blotted  out  by  a  very  solid  something 
which,  approaching  softly,  resolved  itself  into  a  burly, 
blue-clad  form  whose  silver  buttons  and  shield  showed 
conspicuous. 

"What's  doin'!"  demanded  a  voice.  "Who  is  it?" 
The  voice  was  hoarse  and  authoritative,  but  the  gruff  tones 
were  schooled,  it  seemed,  to  an  almost  unnatural  softness. 

"  'S  all  right,  Micky,"  answered  the  Spider  in  the  same 
subdued  tone,  "  it 's  only  me  come  for  d'  Kid." 

"  Who  you  got  wid  you  there,  Spider?  " 

"  A  pal  o'  mine  an'  d'  Kid's  —  he  's  all  right,  Mick !  " 
Then  to  Ravenslee :  "  Come  on,  bo !  "  Slowly  they  ap 
proached  the  shack,  but,  reaching  the  door,  the  Spider 
hesitated  a  long  moment  ere,  lifting  the  latch,  he  led  the 
way  in. 

A  fairly  large  room  was  lighted  by  a  lamp  that  stood 
upon  a  rickety  table  before  which  sat  a  young-faced, 
white-haired  man,  very  industriously  writing  in  a  small 


7 8  The  Definite  Object 

account  book;  upon  the  table  before  him  were  a  number 
of  articles  very  neatly  arranged,  among  which  Ravenslee 
noticed  a  cheap  wrist-watch,  a  hair-comb,  a  brooch,  and 
a  small  chain  purse.  He  was  yet  gazing  at  these  and  at 
the  white-haired  man,  who,  having  nodded  once  to  the 
Spider,  continued  to  write  so  busily,  when  he  was  startled 
to  hear  a  long-drawn,  shuddering  sigh.  Turning  sud 
denly  sharp  about,  he  stared  toward  a  dark  corner  where, 
among  a  litter  of  oars,  misshapen  bundles,  boxes,  and 
odds  and  ends,  was  a  small  stove,  and,  crouched  above  it, 
his  head  between  his  hands,  he  beheld  Spike. 

With  the  same  instinctive  feeling  that  he  must  be  silent, 
Ravenslee  approached  the  boy  and  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder.  Spike  started  and  glanced  up,  though  without 
lifting  his  head. 

"  Your  sister  is  anxious  about  you.  Why  are  you 
here?" 

"  Don't  you  know,  Geoff?    Ain't  no  one  told  ye?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  '11  show  ye !  " 

The  boy  took  a  hurricane  lamp  from  the  floor  beside 
him,  and,  having  lighted  it,  brought  Ravenslee  further  into 
that  littered  corner  where,  among  the  boxes  and  bundles 
and  other  oddments,  lay  what  seemed  to  be  two  or  three 
oars  covered  with  a  worn  tarpaulin. 

"  Look,  Geoff  —  you  remember  —  only  this  morning !  " 
Very  gently  he  raised  a  corner  of  the  tarpaulin  and  as 
he  looked  down,  Ravenslee's  breath  caught  suddenly. 

A  woman's  face,  very  young  and  very  placid-seeming! 
The  long,  dark  hair  framing  the  waxen  features  still  oozed 
drops  of  water  like  great,  slow-falling  tears ;  and  be 
holding  this  pale,  still  face,  Ravenslee  knew  why  he  had 
shivered  and  hushed  voice  and  step,  and  instinctively  he 
bowed  his  uncovered  head. 

"  You  remember  Maggie  Finlay,  Geoff,  this  morning,  on 
the  stairs  ?  She  —  she  kissed  me  good-by,  said  she  was 
goin'  away ;  this  is  what  she  meant  —  the  river,  Geoff ! 
She  's  drowned  herself,  Geoff !  Oh,  my  God !  "  and  letting 


The  End  of  an  Episode          79 

fall  the  tarpaulin,  Spike  was  shaken  suddenly  by  fierce 
hysterical  sobbing;  whereat  the  man,  looking  up  from  his 
writing,  spoke  harsh-voiced. 

"  Aw,  quit  it,  Kid,  quit  it !  Here  I  Ve  just  wrote  down 
three  rings,  and  she  's  only  got  one,  an'  that  a  cheap  fake. 
Shut  up,  Kid,  you  '11  make  me  drop  blots  next !  Cut  it  out, 
it  ain't  as  if  she  was  your  sister  —  "  Hereupon  Spike 
started  and  lifted  a  twitching  face. 

"  My  sister !  "  he  repeated,  "  my  sister  —  whatcher 
mean?  My  God,  Chip,  Hermy  could  never  —  come  to  — 
that ! "  And  shivering  violently,  Spike  turned  and 
stumbled  out  of  the  shack.  Once  outside,  Ravenslee  set  his 
long  arm  about  him  and  felt  the  lad  still  trembling 
violently. 

"  Why,  Spike!  "  said  he,  "  buck  up,  old  fellow!  " 

"  Oh,  Geoff,  Hermy  could  never  —  " 

"  No,  no  —  of  course  not !  "  So  very  silently,  together 
and  side  by  side,  they  crossed  the  narrow  causeway. 

"  Gee,  but  I  'm  cold !  "  said  the  boy  between  chattering 
teeth  as  they  turned  along  the  wide  avenue,  "I  —  I  guess 
it 's  shook  me  some,  Geoff.  Y'  see,  I  used  to  go  to  school 
with  Maggie  once  —  and  now  —  " 

Reaching  Mulligan's  at  last,  they  beheld  numerous 
groups  of  whispering  folk  who  thronged  the  little  court, 
the  doorway,  and  the  hall  beyond ;  they  whispered  together 
upon  the  stairs  and  murmured  on  dim  landings.  But  as 
Ravenslee  and  Spike,  making  their  way  through  these 
groups,  mounted  upward,  they  found  one  landing  very 
silent  and  deserted,  a  landing  where  was  a  certain  battered 
door  whose  dingy  panels  had  been  wetted  with  the  tears 
of  a  woman's  agony,  had  felt  the  yearning,  heartbroken 
passion  of  a  woman's  quivering  lips  such  a  very  few  hours 
ago.  Remembering  which,  Geoffrey  Ravenslee,  turning 
to  look  at  this  grimy  door,  beheld  it  vague  and  blurred 
and  indistinct  as  he  turned  and  climbed  that  much-trodden 
stair. 

Upon  the  top  landing  they  found  Mrs.  Trapes,  who 
leaned  over  the  rails  to  greet  them. 


8o  The  Definite  Object 

"  So  you  found  that  b'y,  Mr.  Geoffrey.  Hermy  '11  be 
glad.  You  '11  have  heard  of  poor  little  Maggie  Finlay  ? 
Poor  lass  —  poor,  lonely  lass  !  'T  was  her  father  drove 
her  to  it,  an'  now  he  's  had  a  fit  —  a  stroke,  the  doctor  's 
with  him  now  —  an'  Hermy,  of  course !  She  's  always 
around  where  trouble  is.  I  guess  there  won't  be  much  rest 
for  her  to-night  —  long  past  midnight  now !  I  'm  glad 
you  found  that  b'y.  I  said  you  would.  I  '11  jest  go  down 
and  tell  Hermy ;  she  '11  be  glad." 

Spike  stood  awhile  after  Mrs.  Trapes  had  gone  down 
stairs,  very  silent  and  with  head  a-droop,  then,  sloAV  and 
heavily,  turned  and  opened  his  door,  but  paused  to  speak 
over  his  shoulder  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"  Geoff  —  if  ever  —  any  man  —  made  my  sister  go 
through  what  Maggie  Finlay  went  through  —  I  'd  — 
shoot  him  dead  —  by  God  in  Heaven,  I  would !  " 


CHAPTER  X 

TELLS  HOW  MR.  BAVENSLEE  WENT  INTO  TRADE 

IT  was  a  week  later,  and  Mr.  Ravenslee  leaned  from  the 
window  of  his  room  to  observe  the  view,  which  consisted 
chiefly  of  dingy  brick  walls  and  dingier  windows,  swaying 
vistas  of  clothes  in  various  stages  of  dampness,  clothes 
that  fluttered  from  many  lines  stretched  across  the  court, 
from  window  to  window,  at  different  altitudes ;  for  to-day 
it  had  been  washing  day  in  Mulligan's;  also  the  evening 
was  warm. 

So  Mr.  Ravenslee  lounged  and  smoked  and  gazed  upon 
the  many  garments,  viewing  them  with  eyes  of  reverie. 
Garments,  these,  of  every  size  and  hue  and  shape  and  for 
either  sex,  garments  that  writhed  and  contorted  themselves 
in  fantastic  dances  when  gently  stirred  by  a  small,  cool 
wind  which,  wafting  across  the  river  from  the  green  New 
Jersey  shore,  breathed  faintly  of  pine  woods. 

He  was  yet  in  absorbed  contemplation  of  the  aerial 
gambols  of  these  many  garments  when  to  him  came  Mrs. 
Trapes,  clutching  a  hot  iron. 

"  Mr.  Geoffrey,  what  '11  you  eat  for  supper  ?  "  she 
demanded. 

"  Mrs.  Trapes,  what  do  you  suppose  I  'm  worthy  of?  " 

"  How  about  a  lovely  piece  o'  liver?  " 

"  Liver !  "  he  repeated,  rubbing  a  square,  smooth-shaven 
chin.  "Hum!  liver  sounds  a  trifle  clammy,  doesn't  it? 
Clammy  and  cold,  Mrs.  Trapes !  " 

"  Cold?  "  said  she,  staring,  "  cold  —  of  course  not!  It 
would  be  nice  an'  hot,  with  thick  gravy  an'  a  tater  or  so. 
An'  as  for  clammy,  who  ever  heard  o'  liver  as  was  n't? 
Calves'  liver,  mind!  They  can't  put  me  off  with  sheep's 


82  The  Definite  Object 

—  no,  siree !     Skudder's  young  man  tried  to  once  —  he 
did  so!" 

"  Foolish,  foolhardy  young  man !"  murmured  Ravenslee. 

"  Mr.  Geoffrey,"  sighed  Mrs.  Trapes,  and  her  elbows 
were  particularly  needle-like,  "  I  jest  took  that  piece  o' 
sheep's  liver  an'  wrapped  it  round  that  young  man's  face." 

"  Unhappy  young  man !  "  murmured  Mr.  Ravenslee. 

"  Y'  see,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  though  a  widder  an'  therefore 
lorn,  I  ain't  to  be  trod  on  in  the  matter  of  livers,  or  any 
thing  else !  " 

"  I  'm  sure  of  it,  Mrs.  Trapes." 

"  But  if  you  don't  kind  of  fancy  liver,  how  about  sas- 
siges?  Sassiges  is  tasty  an'  filling,  an'  cheap.  What  d'  ye 
say  to  sassiges?  " 

"  Sausages,"  answered  Mr.  Ravenslee,  shaking  grave 
head,  "  sausages  demand  such  unbounded  faith  in  the  —  er 

—  sausagee  —  or  should  it  be  sausage-or?  " 

"  Oh,  well  —  a  chop,  cut  thick  an'  with  a  kidney  in  it 

—  what  d'  ye  say  to  a  chop,  now?  " 

"  No,  a  chop  in  an  hour,  Mrs.  Trapes,  or  say,  two 
hours,  will  be  most  welcome.  Are  you  very  busy?  " 

"  Washing  's  all  done,  but  there  's  a  lot  o'  your  shirts 
waiting  to  be  ironed  —  an'  me  here,  lettin'  me  iron  get 
cold !  " 

"  Oh,  never  mind  the  shirts,  Mrs.  Trapes !  Pray  sit 
down ;  I  need  your  counsel  and  advice." 

"But  me  iron?" 

"  Give  it  to  me  —  there !  "  and  Mr.  Ravenslee  deposited 
it  outside  on  the  fire  escape. 

"  Now  Mrs.  Trapes,"  said  he,  "  first  of  all,  I  must  find 
work.  *  Man  is  born  to  labour,  as  the  sparks  fly  upward,' 
you  know." 

"  Born  to  sorrer,  you  mean !  "  she  corrected. 

"  Precisely,"  he  nodded,  "  work  is  sorrow,  and  sorrow 
is  work  —  at  least,  I  know  a  good  many  people  who  think 
so." 

"  More  fools  them !  "  quoth  Mrs.  Trapes,  folding  her 
arms. 


Mr.  Ravenslee  in  Trade          83 

"  My  own  idea  exactly !  "  he  answered,  lazily  tapping 
out  his  pipe  on  the  window  sill. 

"  I  ain't  noticed  you  sweating  none,  lately !  "  quoth 
Mrs.  Trapes  sarcastically. 

"  Alas,  no,  Mrs.  Trapes,  there  being  no  wherefore  to 
call  forth  the  aforesaid  —  er  —  moisture.  Still,  *  man  is 
as  grass  that  withereth '  unless  he  *  goeth  forth  unto  his 
labour.'  " 

"  An'  quite  right  too !  "  nodded  Mrs.  Trapes.  "  If  I 
had  my  way  I  'd  make  'em  all  work !  " 

"  That  would  be  rather  hard  on  our  legislators  and 
Fifth  Avenue  parsons,  wouldn't  it?  Anyway,  I  want 
work,  that 's  sure!  " 

"  Y'  mean  as  your  money  's  all  gone  ?  " 

"  Very  nearly,"  sighed  Mr.  Ravenslee  with  a  suitable 
air  of  dejection.  And  he  did  it  so  well  that  Mrs.  Trapes, 
viewing  him  askance,  frowned,  bit  her  lip,  wriggled  her 
elbows,  and  finally  spoke. 

"  Are  ye  up  against  it  good,  Mr.  Geoffrey?  " 


am 


i  » 


"  Well,"  said  she,  frowning  down  at  the  vivid-coloured 
hearthrug,  "  I  got  twenty-five  dollars  put  away  as  I  've 
pinched  and  scrinched  to  save,  but  if  you  want  the  loan 
of  'em,  you  can  have  'em  an'  welcome." 

Her  lodger  was  silent;  indeed,  he  was  so  long  in  an 
swering  that  at  last  Mrs.  Trapes  looked  up,  to  find  him 
regarding  her  with  a  very  strange  expression. 

"And  you  will  lend  me  your  savings?"  he  asked  her 
softly. 

"  Sure  I  will !  "  And  she  would  have  risen  then  and 
there  but  that  he  stayed  her. 

"  God  bless  you  for  a  generous  soul !  "  said  he,  and 
laughed  rather  queerly;  also  his  grey  eyes  were  a  little 
brighter  than  usual.  "  Why  should  you  trust  me  so 
far?  " 

"  Well,  you  look  honest,  I  guess.  An'  then  we  all  help 
each  other  in  Mulligan's  now  an'  then,  one  way  or  another ; 
we  jest  have  to.  There  's  Mrs.  Bowker,  third  floor  —  the 


84  The  Definite  Object 

tea  an'  sugar  as  I  've  loaned  that  woman  —  an'  last  week 
a  lovely  beef-bone!  Well,  there!  But  if  you  want  the 
loan  of  that  twenty-five  —  " 

"  Mrs.  Trapes,  I  don't.  Things  are  n't  so  desperate  as 
that  yet.  All  I  need  is  a  job  of  some  sort." 

"What  kind  o'  job?" 

"  I  'm  not  particular." 

"  Well  —  what  have  you  been  used  to  ?  " 

"  Alas,  Mrs.  Trapes,  hitherto  I  have  lived  a  life  of  — 
er  —  riotous  ease !  " 

"  That  means  as  you  ain't  worked  at  all,  I  guess. 
Hm !  "  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  viewing  him  with  her  sharp, 
hawk's  eye,  "  and  yet  you  ain't  got  the  look  of  a  confi 
dence  man  nor  yet  a  swell  crook,  consequently  I  take  it 
you  was  the  only  son  of  your  father  an'  lost  all  he  left 
you,  eh?  " 

"  Mrs.  Trapes,  you  are  a  truly  wonderful  woman !  " 

"  T'  be  born  the  only  son  of  a  rich  father  is  a  pretty 
bad  disease,  I  reckon ! "  she  continued,  "  yes,  siree,  it 's 
bad  for  the  child  an'  worse  for  the  man ;  it 's  bound  to 
be  his  ruination  in  the  end  —  like  drink!  And  talkin'  o' 
drink,  I  'm  glad  to  see  that  b'y  Arthur  's  so  fond  o'  you." 

"Oh,  why?" 

"  Because  you  don't  drink." 

"  Well,  I  don't  go  to  bed  in  my  boots,  do  I,  Mrs. 
Trapes  ?  But  then  I  promised  you  I  would  n't,  and,  for 
another  thing,  I  'm  not  a  poet,  you  see,"  said  he  and 
yawned  lazily. 

"  Hermy  says  she  's  glad  too." 

Mr.  Ravenslee  cut  short  his  yawn  in  the  middle. 

"  Hermione  ?    Did  she  say  so  ?    When  ?  " 

"  Ah,  I  guessed  that  would  wake  ye  up  a  bit !  "  said 
Mrs.  Trapes,  noting  his  suddenly  eager  look.  "  It 's  a 
pity  you  're  so  poor,  ain't  it?  " 

"Why?     What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  if  you  had  been  in  a  good  situation  an'  mak 
ing  good  money  —  twenty-five  per,  say  —  you  might  have 
asked  her." 


Mr   Ravenslee  in  Trade          85 

"  Asked  her?  "  repeated  Ravenslee,  staring,  "  asked  her 
what?  " 

"  Why,  t'  marry  you,  o'  course,"  nodded  Mrs.  Trapes. 
"  You  love  her  about  as  much  as  any  man  can  love  — 
which  is  sometimes  a  thimbleful  an'  sometimes  a  bit  more 
—  but  you  sure  love  her  as  much  as  a  man  knows  how,  I 
guess.  An'  don't  try  for  ter  deny  it,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  I 
ain't  blind,  leastways  I  can  see  a  bit  out  o'  one  eye  some 
times  —  specially  where  Hermy  's  concerned,  I  can  so. 
Of  course,  you  ain't  worthy  of  her  —  but  then  no  man  is, 
to  my  mind !  " 

"  No,  I  'm  not  worthy  of  her,  God  knows ! "  said  Ravens 
lee,  quite  humbly. 

"  An'  Hermy  's  goin'  to  marry  a  man  with  money.  Her 
heart 's  set  on  it  —  firm !  " 

"  Money !  "  said  Ravenslee,  scowling.  "  She  seems  any 
thing  but  mercenary." 

"  Mercenary !  "  cried  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  I  should  say  not ! 
I  tell  ye,  she  could  be  a-rollin'  around  in  a  six-thousand- 
dollar  automobile  at  this  very  hour  if  she  was  that  kind. 
With  her  face  an'  figure !  She  could  so !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  as  there  's  men  —  rich  men,  an*  married  too  — 
as  is  mad  after  her  —  " 

"  Ah !  "  said  Ravenslee,  frowning  again. 

"  You  may  well  say  *  ah ! '"  nodded  Mrs.  Trapes. 
"  Men  is  all  beasts  more  or  less !  Why,  I  could  tell  you 
things  —  well,  there !  Hermy  ain't  no  innocent  babe  but 
there  's  some  things  better  than  innocence  an'  that 's  a 
chin  —  will-power,  Mr.  Geoffrey.  If  a  woman  's  sweet  an' 
strong  an'  healthy  like  Hermy,  an'  got  a  chin  —  nothin* 
can  harm  her.  But  beauty  like  hers  is  a  curse  to  any 
good  woman  if  she  's  poor,  beauty  being  a  quick-seller,' 
y'  see !  " 

"  Yes,  I  see  —  I  know !  "  said  Ravenslee,  clenching  his 
hands  and  frowning  blacker  than  ever. 

"  But,"  continued  Mrs.  Trapes,  and  here  she  leaned 
forward  to  touch  him  with  an  impressive,  toil-worn  hand, 


86  The  Definite  Object 

"  Hermy  Chesterton's  jest  a  angel  o'  light  an'  purity; 
she  always  has  been  an'  always  will  be,  but  she  knows 
about  as  much  as  a  good  girl  can  know.  She  's  seen  the 
worst  o'  poverty,  an'  she  's  made  up  her  mind,  when  she 
marries,  to  marry  a  man  as  is  a  man  an'  can  give  her  all 
the  money  she  wants.  So  y'  see  it  ain't  no  good  you 
wastin'  your  time  danglin'  around  after  her  an'  sighin'  — 
now  is  it?  " 

"  Why,  no,  Mrs.  Trapes,  I  think  I  '11  speak  to  her 
to-night  —  " 

"  My  land!  ain't  I  jest  been  tryin'  to  show  you  as  you 
ain't  a  fit  or  worthy  party  to  speak,  an'  as  you  won't 
have  a  chance  if  you  do  speak,  her  'eart  bein'  set  on 
wealth?  But  you  can't  speak  —  you  won't  speak  —  I 
know  you  won't !  " 

"Why  not?" 

"  First,  because  t'  night  she 's  away  at  Englewood 
makin'  a  dress  for  Mrs.  Crawley  as  is  very  fond  of  her. 
An'  second,  because  you  ain't  the  man  to  ask  a  girl  to 
marry  him  when  he  ain't  got  nothin'  t'  keep  her  on  —  you 
know  you  ain't !  " 

"  Which  brings  us  back  to  the  undoubted  fact  that  I 
must  get  a  job  —  at  once." 

"  Hm !  "  said.  Mrs.  Trapes,  viewing  his  clean-cut  fea 
tures  and  powerful  figure  with  approval,  "  what  could 
y'  do?" 

"  Anything,  so  long  as  I  can  make  good,  Mrs.  Trapes. 
What  should  you  suggest?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  caressing  an  elbow  thought 
fully,  "  grocers'  assistants  makes  good  money  —  an'  I 
know  Mr.  Smith  wants  a  butterman." 

"  Good,"  nodded  Ravenslee,  "  I  should  like  to  batter 
butter  about  —  " 

"  Are  ye  used  to  butter?  " 

"  Oh,  I  've  a  decided  taste  for  it !  " 

"  Know  much  about  it?  " 

"  Certainly  —  it  is  a  yellowish,  fatty  substance  con 
cocted  by  human  agency  supposedly  from  the  lacteous 


Mr.  Ravenslee  in  Trade         87 

secretion  of  the  graminivorous  quadruped  familiarly 
known  as  the  common  (or  garden)  cow." 

"  Land  sakes ! "  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  drawing  a  deep 
breath,  "  you  sure  do  know  something  about  it.  Ever 
worked  in  it  before?  " 

"  Only  with  my  teeth." 

"  Oh  —  quit  your  j  ollying,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  if  you  want 
me  t'  help  you !  " 

"  Solemn  as  an  owl,  Mrs.  Trapes !  " 

"  Well,  then,  there  's  Jacob  Pffeffenfifer  wants  a  young 
man  in  his  delicatessen  store." 

"  Mrs.  Trapes,  I  can  slice  ham  and  beef  with  any  one 
on  earth." 

"D'ye  understand  picklin'  and  seasonin'?  " 

"  Ah,  there  you  have  me  again ;    I  fear  I  don't." 

"  Then  you  ain't  no  good  to  Jacob  Pffeffenfifer !  " 

"  On  second  thoughts,  I  'm  not  wholly  sorry,"  answered 
Ravenslee  gravely.  "  You  see,  a  name  like  that  would 
worry  me,  it  would  shake  my  nerve;  I  might  cut  beef  in 
stead  of  ham,  or  ham  instead  of  —  " 

"  Mr.  Geoffrey ! "  quoth  Mrs.  Trapes,  squaring  her 
elbows. 

"  Sober  as  a  judge,  Mrs.  Trapes  and  —  by  Jupiter!" 

"My  land!  What  is  it?" 

"  An  idea  —  look !  "  and  Ravenslee  pointed  down  into 
the  yard. 

"  Why,  it 's  only  Tony !  "  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  glancing 
down  a  vista  of  riotous  garments. 

"  Precisely,"  answered  Ravenslee,  rising  and  stretching 
his  long  arms,  "  Tony  has  solved  my  difficulty ;  I  '11  go 
into  the  peanut  trade." 

"What?     Sell  peanuts?    You?" 

"  Why  not?     *  Man  is  born  —  '  you  know." 

"  But  —  my  land !  Only  dagos  and  guinneys  sells 
peanuts !  " 

"  Splendid !  I  shall  be  the  exception,  Mrs.  Trapes. 
Anyway,  a  peanut  man  I  '11  be !  "  And  catching  up  his 
disreputable  hat,  Ravenslee  nodded  and  left  his  landlady 


88  The  Definite  Object 

staring  after  him  and  murmuring  "  well !  "  at  intervals. 
Presently  she  reached  for  her  iron,  stone-cold  long  since, 
and  stood  awhile  clutching  it  in  bony  fingers  and  staring 
at  nothing  in  particular. 

"  He  's  sure  a  man,  Hermy  my  dear !  "  she  said  at  last, 
nodding  at  the  stuffed  parrot  in  the  corner.  "  I  've 
watched  him  careful  and  I  know.  And  there  's  some  things 
better  than  money,  my  dear  —  ah,  much  better !  So  if  I 
should  help  to  bring  you  into  his  arms  —  man  an'  wife, 
my  dear  —  why,  I  guess  it  would  be  the  best  thing  Anne 
Angelina  Trapes  ever  done  —  yes,  mam !  "  Saying  which, 
she  went  back  to  her  ironing. 

On  the  stairs  Ravenslee  met  Spike,  who  hailed  him 
joyously. 

"  Say,  Geoff,  I  'm  all  alone  to-night ;  come  an'  eat 
supper  with  me  —  how  about  it  ?  " 

"  Suppose  you  have  supper  at  Mrs.  Trapes'  with  me?  " 

"  No,  she  gets  on  me  nerves  —  so  come  on  over,  will 
you?  " 

"  With  pleasure." 

"  'N'  say,  I  'm  a  few  chips  shy  on  butter,  Geoff  —  bring 
in  ten  cents'  worth,  will  you?  " 

"  Right,  O  comrade,  I  '11  be  with  you  anon.  Make  boil 
the  kettle  against  my  coming,"  and  Ravenslee  hastened 
down  the  stairs.  Reaching  the  court  he  met  the  Italian 
trundling  his  barrow  toward  a  certain  shed,  its  usual 
nocturnal  biding  place. 

"  How  goes  it,  Tony?  "  he  enquired,  shaking  hands. 

The  Italian  nodded  and  flashed  his  teeth.  "  Ver-a  good, 
pal !  "  he  answered. 

"  Tony,  where  can  I  get  a  peanut  outfit  like  yours  ?  " 

"  Ha !  You  go-a  in-a  da  peanut-a  beezneez,  hey  ?  You 
want-a  push-a  de  cart,  hey?  " 

"  That 's  it,  Tony." 

"  Ver-a  good ! "  nodded  the  good-natured  Italian. 
"  You  come-a  long-a  me,  pal.  I  take-a  you  get-a  push-a- 
de-cart,  up-a  de  street,  yes  ?  "  Having  very  soon  locked 
away  his  barrow,  the  loquacious  Tony  led  Ravenslee 


Mr.  Ravenslee  in  Trade         89 

along  certain  streets  and  into  a  certain  yard,  where  pres 
ently  appeared  a  stout  man  with  rings  in  his  ears,  who 
smiled  and  nodded  and  greeted  them  with  up-flung  finger 
and  the  word  "  altro."  Presently  Ravenslee  found  himself 
examining  a  highly  ornate  barrow  fitted  with  stove  and 
outfit  complete,  even  unto  the  whistle,  and  mounted  upon 
a  pair  of  the  rosiest  wheels  he  had  ever  seen.  Thereafter 
were  more  smiles  and  nods,  accompanied  by  the  ever  re 
current  "  altro  ",  the  transfer  of  certain  bills  into  the 
stout  man's  pocket,  and  Geoffrey  Ravenslee  sallied  forth 
into  the  street,  bound  for  Mulligan's,  with  the  chattering 
Tony  beside  him  and  the  gaily-painted  barrow  before  him, 
receiving  many  friendly  hints  as  to  the  pitfalls  and  intri 
cacies  of  the  peanut  trade  and  hearkening  with  unflagging 
interest  to  the  story  of  "  lil  Pietro  "  and  the  unbounded 
goodness  of  "  da  Signorina  Hermione." 


CHAPTER  XI 

ANTAGONISM  IS  BORN  AND  WAR  DECLARED 

"  WHY  —  hello,  Hermy !  "  exclaimed  Spike,  pausing  in 
the  doorway.  "  Gee,  I  thought  you  was  —  were  in 
Englewood." 

Hermione  lifted  her  golden  head,  stayed  her  humming 
sewing-machine,  and  smiled  at  him. 

"  And  I  thought  I  'd  come  home  and  surprise  you. 
Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me,  boy  dear?  " 

"  Why,  sure  I  am !  "  he  answered,  and  stooping,  kissed 
a  golden  curl  that  wantoned  at  her  white  temple;  which 
done,  he  sprawled  in  the  easy-chair  and  taking  a  news 
paper  from  his  pocket,  fell  to  studying  the  latest  baseball 
scores  while  Hermione,  head  bent  above  her  work  again, 
glanced  at  him  now  and  then  rather  wistfully. 

"  Gee  whiz,"  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  "  the  Giants  put  it 
all  over  Cincinnati  to-day,  Hermy.  Y*  see,  Matty  was  in 
th'  box,  an'  he  sure  pitched  some  game !  " 

Hermione  stopped  her  machine  and  looked  at  him  under 
wrinkling  brows. 

"  I  thought  you  were  hunting  through  the  *  wanted ' 
columns,  Arthur  ?  " 

"  Why,  y'  see  I  ain't  —  have  n't  got  to  the  ads  yet, 
Hermy." 

Hermione  sighed  softly  and,  resting  her  round  chin  in 
her  hands,  viewed  him  silently  awhile  until,  becoming  aware 
of  the  steadfast  gaze  of  those  sweet  and  gentle  eyes,  Spike 
shuffled  uneasily  and  changed  colour. 

"  Arthur,"  she  said  softly,  "  when  you  promised  me  to 
try  and  find  a  situation  you  meant  it,  didn't  you?  " 


Antagonism  is  Born  91 

"Sure  I  did!" 

"  That  was  a  week  ago,  dear." 

"  But,  Herray,  I  went  after  that  office-boy's  job  —  you 
know  I  did !  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  though  you  got  there  too  late." 

"  No,  I  was  n't  late,  Hermy,  only  another  guy  hap 
pened  t'  get  there  first  —  an'  got  the  j  ob !  A  kid  I  could 
have  licked  with  one  hand,  too.  One  of  these  mommer's 
pets  in  a  nobby  sack  suit  —  all  dolled  up  in  a  clean  collar 
an'  a  bow-tie  an'  grey  kid  gloves.  I  guess  his  outfit  helped 
him  a  whole  lot  —  an'  y'  see  I  'm  a  few  chips  shy  on 
clothes,  I  guess." 

Hermione  looked  at  her  brother's  worn  garments,  shiny 
at  elbow  and  knee,  and  as  she  looked,  her  eyes  were  sud 
denly  suffused. 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  —  I  'm  afraid  they  are  —  rather 
shabby,"  she  admitted  humbly.  "  Your  clothes  always 
did  seem  to  wear  out  so  very  quickly !  And  —  and  it 
costs  so  much  to  live !  And  —  sometimes  I  grow  — 
afraid  —  " 

The  smooth,  low  voice  faltered  and  ended  upon  a  sob. 
Spike  stared  in  wide-eyed  amaze,  for  seldom  had  he  seen 
his  sister  thus,  but  now,  beholding  the  droop  of  that 
brave  head,  seeing  how  her  strong  white  hands  gripped 
each  other,  he  tossed  the  paper  aside,  and  flinging  himself 
on  his  knees  clasped  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Don't  cry,  Hermy !  "  he  pleaded.  "  Oh,  don't  cry, 
I  —  I  can't  bear  it.  You  know  I  love  you  best  in  the 
world  —  ah,  don't  cry,  dear,  I  —  I  '11  hunt  up  a  job  first 
thing  —  honest  I  will  —  " 

"  But  your  clothes  are  so  very  shabby !  "  she  sobbed, 
"  and  oh,  boy  dear,  I  have  only  just  enough  to  —  pay 
our  rent  this  month  —  so  I  can't  get  you  any  more  — 
yet,  dear !  " 

"  Hermy,"  said  he  brokenly,  "  oh,  Hermy,  you  make 
me  feel  so  mean  I  —  I  —  One  sure  thing  you  're  never 
goin'  t'  spend  your  money  on  clothes  for  me  any  more  — 
the  money  you  work  so  hard  for !  Never  any  more, 


92  The  Definite  Object 

Hermy  dear.  You  *ve  done  enough  for  me,  I  guess,  an' 
now  it 's  up  t'  me  to  help  you  and  —  and  —  oh,  Gee !  " 
Here  Spike's  voice  broke  altogether,  whereupon  Hermione, 
quite  forgetting  her  own  sorrows  and  worries,  fell  to 
soothing  and  comforting  him  as  she  had  done  many  and 
many  a  time  during  his  motherless  childhood. 

"  Say,  Hermy,"  said  he  at  last,  his  tear-stained  cheek 
pillowed  on  her  soft,  round  bosom,  "  you  won't  think  me 
a  —  an  awful  kid  for  —  for  cryin',  will  you  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  love  you  all  the  better,  boy  dear,  and  — 
I  'm  sure  it  has  done  us  both  good,"  and,  smiling  down  at 
him  through  her  tears,  she  kissed  him. 

"  I  '11  start  in  an'  rustle  up  a  job  right  away,  Hermy!  " 
said  he,  rising  and  nodding  grimly. 

"  Oh,  boy,"  said  she,  looking  up  at  him  fondly,  "  I 
shall  be  so  proud  of  you.  It  would  n't  matter  what  it 
was,  or  how  little  you  got  at  first,  so  long  as  it  was  decent 
and  honourable.  And  I  'm  sure  you  '11  get  on  —  Mr. 
Geoffrey  thinks  so  too." 

"  Does  he  ?  I  'm  glad  o'  that.  Say,  how  d'  ye  like 
Geoff?  " 

"  Oh  —  well,  I  've  only  seen  him  two  or  three  times," 
said  Hermione,  folding  away  her  work  preparatory  to 
cooking  supper. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  said  Spike,  smoothing  out  the  paper 
and  scowling  at  the  long  columns  headed  "  Help  Wanted." 

"  Ye-es,  I  think  so." 

"  But  you  an'  him  's  always  meetin'  on  the  stairs,  ain't 
—  are  n't  you  ?  " 

"  You  should  say  *  he  and  you  ',  dear." 

"  Well  —  but  are  n't  you?  " 

"  We  have  met  —  once  or  twice." 

"D'ye  like  him?" 

"  Well,  he  's  so  very  —  different !  And  rather  lazy ! 
And  awfully  sleepy !  And  yet  I  don't  think  he  's  sleepy 
really,  somehow." 

"Sleepy?"  exclaimed  Spike.  "Well,  I  guess  not! 
Lazy  I  dunno,  but  he  sure  is  all  to  the  wide-awake-o. 


Antagonism  is  Born  93 

When  he  looks  sleepiest,  I  guess  he 's  widest-awakest. 
And  he  ain't  a  —  is  n't  a  bad  looker,  is  he  ?  " 

"  He  has  nice  eyes !  "  Hermione  admitted. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  his  eyes !  "  quoth  Spike  disgustedly. 
"  I  mean  his  arms  an'  legs  an'  shoulders." 

"  They  are  nice  and  wide !  "  nodded  Hermione. 

"  I  should  like  t'  see  Geoff  in  th'  ring.  He  'd  strip 
big!" 

"  Oh,  really,"  said  Hermione,  taking  a  very  large  apron 
from  the  table  drawer.  "  Boy,  dear,  I  do  wish  you 
were  n't  always  thinking  of  fighting." 

"  All  right,  Hermy  dear.  But  there  ain't  no  flies  on 
Geoff  —  'n'  say,  I  want  yer  to  like  him  'cause  I  kinder 
think  he  's  all  to  the  cream-puffs  an'  —  " 

"  Arthur ! "  cried  Hermione,  lifting  an  admonishing 
finger. 

"  I  'm  sorry ;  my  tongue  kinder  slipped,  Hermy.  But 
I  have  been  trying  t'  keep  tabs  on  me  talk,  honest  I  have." 

"  Yes,  dear.  You  have  n't  been  quite  so  frightful 
lately." 

"  Y'  see,  Hermy,  you  're  different ;  you  went  to  a  swell 
school  an'  —  " 

"  And  you  never  did  —  I  know,  dear.  But  oh,  Arthur, 
I  did  the  best  I  could." 

"  And  a  lot  better  than  I  deserved,"  said  he,  reaching 
out  to  pat  her  hand  caressingly.  "  When  I  get  a  good 
job,  I  '11  stay  in  nights  and  study  hard  like  you  want  me 
to  —  I  sure  will." 

"  Yes,  dear,  and  you  '11  soon  be  heaps  cleverer  than  I 
am,"  said  she,  stooping  to  kiss  his  curly  head  as  she  tied 
the  apron  about  her  shapely  hips;  and  then,  giving  him 
a  smiling  nod,  she  vanished  into  the  kitchen,  while  Spike 
laboured  through  the  long  columns  headed  "  Help 
Wanted."  And  presently,  as  she  moved  light-footed  to 
and  fro  in  the  kitchen,  he  heard  her  singing  softly  to 
herself,  an  old,  old  song  of  other  days  that  had  often 
been  his  lullaby  when  he  was  a  small,  motherless  armful 
of  sleepiness  hushed  in  her  young,  protecting  clasp. 


94  The  Definite  Object 

"  Arthur !  "  she  called. 

"  Hello !  "  he  answered. 

"  Are  you  hungry  ?  " 

"You  bet  I  am!" 

A  long  pause,  whereafter  ensued  the  following  conver 
sation  between  kitchen  and  parlour: 

HERMIONE.     "  Boy  dear !  " 

SPIKE.     "Hello!" 

HERMIONE.     "  Be  a  dear  and  lay  the  cloth  for  me !  " 

SPIKE.     "  Right-o !  " 

A  longer  pause,  during  which  Spike  rises  and  takes 
cloth  from  sideboard  drawer. 

HERMIONE.     "  Arthur !  " 

SPIKE.     "Yes?" 

HERMIONE.     "  Where  did  you  meet  him?  " 

SPIKE  (starting).     "Who?" 

HERMIONE.  "  Mr.  Geoffrey.  How  did  you  happen  to 
meet  each  other?  " 

Another  pause,  while  Spike  stands  frowning  in  per 
plexed  thought. 

SPIKE.     "  Where  did  you  say  the  cloth  was  ?  " 

HERMIONE.  "  In  the  sideboard  drawer.  How  long 
have  you  known  him?  " 

SPIKE  (beginning  to  lay  the  cloth  feverishly).  "Oh, 
a  goodish  time.  Say,  Hermy,  he  sure  likes  your  name  a 
whole  lot!'' 

HERMIONE.  "Oh!"  (A  very  small  pause.)  "Likes 
my  name,  does  he?  " 

SPIKE.      "  He  sure  does.     He  told  me  so." 

HERMIONE.  "Oh!"  (Another  small  pause.)  "Just 
what  did  he  say,  boy  dear  ?  " 

SPIKE.  "  He  said  it  was  Greek  an'  very  beautiful,  an' 
then  I  said  it  kind  of  fitted  you  because  you  were  aces  up 
on  the  face  an'  figure  question." 

A  rush  of  petticoats,  and  enter  Hermione,  flushed  and 
laughing. 

"  You  dear  boy !  "  she  cried,  "  for  that  you  shall  be 
kissed !  "  which  he  was  forthwith ;  after  which  she  turned 


Antagonism  is  Born  95 

to  the  mirror  to  smooth  back  a  shining  tress  of  hair  — 
that  same  rebellious  curl  that  glistened  above  her  fine, 
black  eyebrow. 

"  Where  did  you  say  you  first  met  him  - —  Mr.  Geof 
frey?  "  she  enquired  suddenly,  still  busied  with  the  rebel 
lious  curl.  Spike  started,  and  glanced  uneasily  at  her 
shapely  back. 

"  Say,  Hermy,"  said  he,  a  little  huskily,  "  have  you  got 
anything  for  supper?  " 

"  Not  much,  dear,  I  'm  afraid." 

"  That 's  a  pity !  " 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  because  I  asked  him  in  to  supper." 

"  You  asked  Mr.  Geoffrey  —  here  ?  "  she  gasped. 

"  Surest  thing  you  know.  Y'  see,  I  thought  you  was 
staying  over  at  Englewood." 

"  Oh,  Arthur !  "  she  sighed.  "  And  there  are  only  two 
wretched  little  chops !  And  not  a  bit  of  butter !  And  the 
rent 's  due  to-morrow  —  I  can't  spare  a  cent  —  and  me 
in  this  shabby  old  gown !  and  you  broke  the  best  teapot." 

"  Sounds  kind  of  gay  an'  festive !  "  sighed  Spike  rue 
fully.  "  But  don't  worry  about  the  eats,  dear.  Geoff 
won't  mind,  an'  he  '11  never  notice  your  old  gown  —  " 

"  He  seems  to  notice  a  great  deal,"  said  Hermione 
doubtfully  as  she  hastily  untied  the  big  apron,  "  and  be 
sides  —  oh,  gracious  goodness !  "  she  cried,  as  a  knock 
sounded  at  the  front  door,  "  you  must  let  him  in,  Arthur 
—  and  don't  let  him  know  I  'm  changing  my  gown !  " 
Saying  which,  she  vanished  into  her  bedroom  while  Spike 
hastened  to  the  door. 

"  Why  —  hello,  Tony !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  what 's  wrong 
now?" 

"  My  HI  Pietro,"  cried  the  Italian  excitedly,  "  he  no 
sleep  —  he  burn-a  burn-a  all-a  da  time,  —  all-a  da  time 
cry !  You  tell-a  you  sis  —  she  come-a  like-a  da  las'  time 
den  he  no  cry-a  —  "  But  here  Tony  broke  off  to  flourish 
his  hat  and  bow  gracefully  as  he  caught  sight  of  Hermione 
herself.  "  Ah,  Signorina !  "  he  cried,  "  my  HI  Pietro  he 


96  The  Definite  Object 

seeck.  You  please-a  come  see  my  lil  Pietro?  He  flush-a 
he  cry  —  he  all-a  da  fire!  he  burn-a,  burn-a,  like-a  da 
fire !  You  so  good,  so  generosa  —  you  come  see  my  lil 
Pietro?" 

"  Why,  of  course  I  will !  "  said  Hermione  in  her  calm, 
soft  voice,  "poor  little  mite  —  is  he  feverish?" 

"  Si,  si  Signorina !  "  answered  the  anxious  young  father, 
"  he  burn-a,  burn-a  all-a  da  time !  " 

"  Reach  me  the  aconite,  boy  dear ;    yes,  that 's  it." 

"  But  what  about  supper,  Hermy  ?  "  queried  Spike 
wistfully. 

"  Oh,  well  —  finish  laying  the  table ;  I  '11  be  back  as 
soon  as  ever  I  can,  dear." 

"  Oh,  Gee !  "  sighed  Spike,  as  their  footsteps  died  away 
down  the  stair,  "  she  sure  is  keen  on  knowing  how  I  met 
Geoff !  And  if  she  ever  finds  out  —  "  Spike  cowered 
down  into  a  chair  and  clasping  his  head  between  his  hands 
sat  thus  a  long  while,  staring  moodily  at  the  floor,  striv 
ing  for  a  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  He  was  yet  wrestling 
with  this  knotty  problem  when  he  heard  muffled  knocks 
at  the  front  door,  which,  being  opened,  disclosed  the  ob 
ject  of  his  thoughts. 

"  Why,  Geoff,"  he  cried  gladly,  "  I  thought  you  was  n't 
coming.  Say,  what  you  got  there?  "  he  enquired,  for 
Ravenslee's  arms  were  filled  with  sundry  packages  and 
parcels. 

"  Come  and  see !  "  said  Ravenslee  mysteriously.  "  Catch 
this  one  before  I  drop  it !  " 

"  Why  —  hello,"  said  Spike,  sniffing  at  the  package  in 
question  as  he  led  the  way  into  the  parlour,  "  it  smells 
good !  It  sniffs  like  —  Holy  Gee,  it 's  a  roast  turkey  ! 
And  —  oh,  say,  Geoff  —  she  's  a  beaut !  " 

"  Precisely  what  Mr.  Pffeffenfifer  assured  me,"  said 
Ravenslee,  depositing  his  other  burdens  on  the  table. 
"  Mr.  Pffeffenfifer  is  a  man  educated  in  eats,  a  food  fan 
cier,  an  artist  of  the  appetite!  Mr.  Pffeffenfifer  is  fat 
and  soulful !  Mr.  Pffeffenfifer  nearly  wept  tears  over  the 
virtues  of  that  bird  —  pledged  his  mortal  soul  for  its 


Antagonism  is  Born  97 

tenderness,  vowed  by  all  the  gods  it  had  breast  enough 
for  twins !  Mr.  Pffeffenfifer  seemed  so  passionately  at 
tached  to  that  bird  that  I  feared  he  meant  to  keep  it  to 
gloat  over  in  selfish  secrecy.  But  no  —  base  coin  seduced 
him,  did  the  trick  and  —  here  it  is.  Also  we  have  a  loaf !  " 
and  from  beneath  one  arm  Ravenslee  dropped  a  package 
that  resolved  itself  into  a  Vienna  roll.  "  Also,  ham  —  " 

"  Hey,  Geoff,"  said  Spike  in  awe-struck  tones,  "  are  all 
these  eats  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  I  should  have  brought  more  if  I  could  have 
carried  'em." 

"More?" 

"  Most  decidedly.  When  I  buy  eats,  my  lad,  I  buy 
everything  in  sight  that  looks  worth  while  —  if  Mr.  Pffef 
fenfifer  sells.  Mr.  Pffeffenfifer  sells  in  such  a  soulfully  se 
ductive  way  that  eats  acquire  virtues  above  and  beyond 
their  own  base  selves.  Mr.  Pffeffenfifer  can  infuse  soul 
into  a  sausage.  Behold  now,  eats  the  most  alluring.  See, 
what 's  this !  Ah,  yes,  here  we  have,  item :  Salmi,  redo 
lent  of  garlic!  Here  again  a  head  cheese,  succulent  and 
savoury ;  here  's  ham,  most  ravishingly  pink  —  and  a 
Camembert  cheese." 

"  But,  Jiminy  Christmas  —  you  bought  such  a  lot  of 
each.  Who  's  goin'  t'  eat  all  these  ?  " 

"  We,  of  course !  " 

"  But  we  can't  eat  'em  all !  "  sighed  Spike. 

"Can't  we?"  said  Ravenslee,  beginning  to  view  the 
quantity  of  the  numerous  viands  with  dubious  eyes. 
"  They  do  seem  rather  a  lot  now  I  see  'em  all  together. 
But  I  'm  ravenous,  and  if  we  can't  manage  'em,  we  '11  find 
some  one  who  can." 

"  Y'  see,  Geoff,  I  shan't  be  able  t'  eat  any  o'  the  rest 
when  I  'm  through  with  the  turk' !  "  sighed  Spike,  a  little 
reproachfully.  "  My,  but  I  'm  hungry !  Strange  how 
hungry  cold  turkey  makes  a  guy !  " 

"  Why,  then,"  said  Ravenslee,  pitching  his  hat  into  a 
corner,  "  sit  down,  comrade,  and  *  let  mirth  with  uncon- 
fined  wing  '  —  "  Ravenslee  yawned. 


9 8  The  Definite  Object 

"  I  guess  we  'd  better  wait  a  bit,  Geoff." 

"  What  for?  " 

"  Hermy." 

"  Is  she  —  do  you  mean  she  's  back?  "  enquired  Ravens- 
lee,  sitting  up. 

"  Yes,  she  did  n't  stay  at  Englewood ;  she  's  down 
stairs,  doctoring  Tony's  kid." 

"  But  what  will  she  think  of  all  these  confounded 
messes?  " 

"  Messes  ! "  cried  Spike  indignantly.  "  Cheese  it,  Geoff 
—  look  at  that  turk' !  " 

"But  —  do  you  think  she'll  —  mind?"  enquired  Ra- 
venslee  uneasily. 

"Mind?"  said  Spike,  staring.  "Not  on  your  life  — 
why  should  she?  Besides,  it 's  kind  o'  lucky  you  happened 
to  blow  in  with  this  free  lunch ;  she  's  a  bit  shy  on  the 
dollar  question  this  month  —  an'  Mulligan  comes  t'  mor 
row.  An'  oh,  say,  Geoff  —  she  's  dead  set  on  findin'  out 
how  I  met  you  an'  —  an'  where." 

"  Very  naturally !  "  murmured  Ravenslee. 

"  An'  we  must  tell  her  something  —  but  what?  " 

"  Spike,  you  've  forgotten  the  mustard !  And  as  for  — 
er  —  lying  to  your  sister,  let  our  motto  be  *  sufficient  unto 
the  day.'  Our  present  need  is  mustard,  Spike." 

"  Say,  this  sure  is  goin'  t'  be  some  supper,  Geoff !  " 
said  Spike,  setting  on  the  mustard  and  gazing  at  the  array 
of  edibles  with  shining  eyes.  "  Gee,  I  could  eat  cold  turkey 
all  night ! " 

"  Have  we  everything  ready,  Spike?  " 

"  Except  butter,  Geoff." 

"  Ha !  the  one  thing  I  forgot,  of  course !  Cut  off  and 
get  some  like  the  good  fellow  you  are !  "  and  Ravenslee 
flicked  a  bill  into  Spike's  hand,  who,  seizing  his  cap, 
promptly  vanished.  Being  alone,  Ravenslee  crossed  to 
the  sideboard,  and  taking  thence  a  certain  photograph, 
seated  himself  in  the  easy-chair  and  fell  to  studying  it  with 
deep  and  grave  attention.  And  sitting  thus,  he  let  fancy 
run  riot  —  and  fancy  was  singularly  pleasing  to  judge  by 


Antagonism  is  Born  99 

the  glow  in  his  eyes  and  the  tender  smile  that  curved  his 
lip. 

He  was  lost  deep  within  his  dreams  when  he  was  aware  of 
a  loud  knock  upon  the  outer  door  which  Spike  had  left  un 
latched  and,  replacing  the  photograph,  he  rose. 

"  Come  in !  "  said  he.  A  heavy  step  sounded  in  the 
little  hall,  the  door  was  pushed  open,  and  a  man  entered. 
He  was  a  young  man,  big  and  broad-shouldered,  and  Ra- 
venslee's  keen  eyes  were  quick  to  heed  the  length  and  pon 
derous  carriage  of  the  arms,  the  girth  of  chest,  and  firm, 
heavy  poise  of  the  feet;  lastly  he  looked  at  the  face,  ag 
gressively  handsome  with  its  dominating  nose  and  chin, 
and  blue  eyes  shaded  by  thick  lashes,  that  looked  out  be 
neath  heavy  brows  —  a  comely-seeming  face  from  the 
-dark,  close-cropped  hair  to  the  deep  cleft  in  the  strong, 
fleshy  chin. 

But  now,  beneath  Ravenslee's  persistent  regard,  the  full- 
curved,  shapely  lips  grew  slowly  into  a  cruel,  down-trending 
line,  the  nostrils  expanded,  while  the  blue  eyes  narrowed  to 
shining  slits  beneath  quick-scowling,  black  brows.  For  a 
long  moment  the  two  men  stared  at  each  other,  eye  to  eye, 
then,  in  a  hoarse,  assertive  tone  the  newcomer  spoke. 

"  What  you  doin'  here?    Who  are  ye?  " 

Mr.  Ravenslee  sat  down  and  began  to  fill  his  pipe. 

"  Where  's  d'  Kid?  " 

Mr.  Ravenslee  brushed  stray  grains  of  tobacco  from  his 
knee  with  elaborate  care. 

"  Hey,  you !  Where  's  Spike  —  'n'  what  you  doin'  here, 
anyway?  " 

Mr.  Ravenslee  glanced  up  casually.  "  And  pray,  who 
the  devil  may  you  be  pleased  to  be  ?  "  he  enquired. 

"  Me  name  's  M'Ginnis !  " 

"  Oh,  indeed?  " 

"  Yes  —  indeed !  Bud  M'Ginnis  —  Is  that  good  'nuff 
for  ye?  " 

"  Well,  since  you  ask,"  said  Ravenslee,  shaking  languid 
head,  "  I  should  scarcely  cla^s  you  as  a  *  bud  '  myself. 
No  —  I  should  say  you  were  perhaps  j  ust  a  trifle  —  er  — 


ioo  The  Definite  Object 

overblown.  But  have  it  your  own  way !  "  and  Mr.  Ra- 
venslee  smiled  engagingly. 

"  Where  's  Spike  ?  "  demanded  M'Ginnis,  his  tone  a  little 
gruffer,  "and  say  —  you  can  cut  out  the  comedy,  see? 
Nix  on  the  funny  business." 

"  You  are  a  pessimist,  I  presume,  Mr.  Flowers?  " 

"  Where  's  d'  Kid?     Speak  up  now  —  where  is  he?  " 

"  Also,  your  conversation  grows  a  little  monotonous, 
Mr.  Flowers." 

M'Ginnis  stared,  then  shot  out  his  big  chin  viciously. 

"  What  you  doin'  in  Hermy's  flat,  eh?  " 

Mr.  Ravenslee' s  brows  wrinkled  slightly,  but  his  soft 
voice  grew  softer,  as,  pausing  in  the  act  of  lighting  his 
pipe,  he  answered :  "  On  the  whole  I  think  you  are  a  rather 
—  er  —  unpleasant  young  man,  so  suppose  you  —  er  — 

go-" 

"What?    Go?    Areyetryin't'tellmet'go?" 

"  I  'm  suggesting  that  you  —  er  —  crank  up  the  ma 
chine,  Mr.  Flowers,  and  beat  it  while  the  going  's  good !  " 

M'Ginnis  clenched  his  fist  and  took  a  threatening  step 
toward  Ravenslee,  then  checked  himself  and  stood  breath 
ing  heavily. 

"  May  I  further  suggest,"  said  Ravenslee  in  his  pleas- 
antest  voice,  "  that  you  look  in  again  —  say  next  Thurs 
day  fortnight,  Mr.  Flowers?  " 

"  T'  hell  with  you  —  me  name  *s  M'Ginnis." 

"Of  course  you  might  leave  a  message,  Mr.  Flowers  —  " 

"  Now,  see  here,  you !  "  said  M'Ginnis,  his  words  coming 
thick  with  passion.  "  I  wanter  know,  first,  where  Spike 
is.  And  then  I  wanter  know  who  you  are.  And  then  I 
wanter  know  what  you  're  after  in  Hermy  Chesterton's 
flat  —  and  you  're  sure  goin'  t'  tell  me !  " 

"Am  I?" 

"  You  sure  are !  " 

Mr.  Ravenslee  opened  the  matchbox.  "  Seems  a  pity 
to  shake  a  confidence  so  sublime,"  he  sighed.  "  And 

yet  —  " 

"  An*  see  here  again !    I  've  known  Hermy  since  we  was 


Antagonism  is  Born  101 

kids,  an'  I  don't  allow  no  man  t'  come  stamping  around 
here  —  see?  So  you  're  goin'  t'  quit,  an'  you  're  goin'  t' 
quit  right  now !  " 

"  Do  I  look  like  a  quitter,  Mr.  Flowers?  " 

Now  beholding  the  speaker's  lazy  assurance  of  pose,  the 
contemptuous  indifference  of  his  general  air,  M'Ginnis 
stood  speechless  a  moment,  his  clenched  fists  quivering, 
while,  above  the  loosely -tied  scarf,  his  powerful  neck  seemed 
to  swell  and  show  knotted  cords  that  writhed  and  twisted, 
and  when  at  last  he  spoke,  his  words  came  in  a  panting 
rush. 

"  This  is  Hermy's  flat,  an'  I  guess  —  you  think  you  're 
safe  here  —  but  you  ain't !  I  'm  thinkin'  out  which  '11  do 
th'  least  harm  to  her  furniture  —  to  lick  ye  here  or  drag 
you  out  on  to  the  landin*  first !  " 

Mr.  Ravenslee  lounged  lower  in  the  armchair  and 
yawned  behind  the  box  of  matches.  And  in  that  moment, 
like  a  maddened  animal,  M'Ginnis  leapt  upon  him  and, 
striking  no  blow,  seized  and  shook  Ravenslee  in  powerful, 
frantic  hands,  while  from  between  his  lips,  curled  back 
from  big,  white  teeth,  came  a  continuous,  vicious,  hissing 
sound. 

"  I  '11  wake  ye  up ! "  he  panted.  "  Come  out  —  come 
out,  I  say  —  oh,  I  '11  wake  ye  up  when  I  get  ye  outside, 
I  guess.  Come  out!  What  you  doin'  in  Hermy's  flat? 
By  God !  I  '11  choke  ye  till  you  tell  me !  "  and  his  hands 
came  upon  Ravenslee's  throat  —  came  to  be  met  there  by 
two  other  hands  that,  closing  upon  his  wrists,  wrenched 
and  twisted  viciously  in  opposite  directions  and,  loosing 
his  hold,  M'Ginnis  fell  back,  staring  down  at  bruised  and 
lacerated  skin  where  oozed  a  few  slow  drops  of  blood. 

"  And  now,"  said  Ravenslee,  rising,  "  after  you,  Mr. 
Flowers !  Let  us  by  all  means  step  outside,  where  we  will 
each  earnestly  endeavour  to  pitch  the  other  down-stairs 
—  personally,  I  shall  do  my  very  damnedest,  for  really 
I  don't  —  no,  I  do  not  like  you,  Mr.  Flowers ;  you  need 
some  one  to  tread  on  you  a  little.  Step  outside  and  let 
me  try." 


IO2  The  Definite  Object 

While  M'Ginnis  stared  from  his  swelling,  bloody  wrists 
to  Ravenslee's  face  —  a  face  quite  as  fierce  and  determined 
as  his  own  —  steps  were  heard  and  Spike's  voice  called : 

"  Hermy  come  in  yet,  Geoff?  " 

"  Not  yet  —  but  our  friend  Mr.  Flowers  has  dropped 
in  —  socially,  I  fancy." 

"  Mr.  Who?  "  enquired  Spike  at  the  door,  but  behold 
ing  M'Ginnis's  angry  face,  he  paused  there,  staring 
aghast.  "  Why  —  hello,  Bud !  "  said  he  nervously. 
"  What 's  wrong?  " 

"  Nothin'  much  —  yet,  Kid,  only  it 's  kinder  lucky  for 
this  guy  as  you  happened  in.  Who  is  he?  What's  he 
doin'  here?  " 

"  He  's  only  a  friend  o'  mine,  Bud,  an'  he  's  all  right, 
V  say  —  " 

"  Tell  him  t'  beat  it." 

"  But  y'  see,  Bud  —  " 

"  Tell  him  as  we  don't  want  his  kind  around  here  or  —  " 

"  Spike,  did  you  bring  in  the  butter?  "  enquired  Ra- 
venslee,  serenely  unconscious  of  M'Ginnis. 

"  Yes,  here  it  is,  Geoff  —  but  say  —  " 

"  It  does  n't  feel  much,"  said  Ravenslee,  weighing  the 
package  in  his  hand. 

"  It 's  half  a  pound.  But  say,  here  's  Bud ;  he  says 
you  're  to  —  " 

"  My,  Spike,  I  '11  trouble  you  for  the  butter-dish  — 
thanks !  "  and  turning  away,  Ravenslee  busied  himself  at 
the  table,  whistling  softly  the  while. 

"  But,  Geoff,  this  is  Bud !  "  cried  the  lad,  glancing  from 
one  to  the  other  in  an  agony  of  suspense.  "  Oh,  don'  ye 
know  dis  is  Bud  M'Ginnis  ?  " 

"  Ah,  still  here,  is  he?  "  said  Ravenslee,  without  looking 
round. 

"  See  here,  Kid,"  growled  M'Ginnis,  "  you  tell  your  — 
friend  t'  clear  out  an'  t'  do  it  real  quick,  see?  You  tell 
him  if  he  ain't  out  in  two  minutes,  I  '11  run  him  out 
meself  —  " 

**  Spike,  this  butter  is  nearly  oil." 


Antagonism  is  Born  103 

"  Oh,  Geoff,"  groaned  the  boy,  "  you  've  got  t'  go  — 
here's  Bud  —  " 

"  Why,  then,  Spike,  tell  him  to  —  er  —  chase  himself ; 
I  'm  busy !  "  Came  the  sound  of  a  chair  set  roughly  aside 
and  a  shrill  cry  from  Spike :  "  My  God,  Bud  —  don't ! 
Look  out,  Geoff!" 

But,  as  M'Ginnis  came,  Ravenslee  turned  swiftly, 
ducked  the  expected  blow,  and  swinging  his  fist  up  beneath 
his  assailant's  extended  arm,  smote  him  hard  and  true 
upon  the  elbow;  and  Spike,  pale  and  wide  of  eye,  saw 
that  arm  fall  and  dangle  helplessly  at  M'Ginnis'  side,  while 
his  face  was  contorted  with  sharp  agony. 

"  My  God,  Geoff !    What  you  done  t'  him?  " 

"  Pins  and  needles,  Spike  —  that 's  all.  A  hoary  old 
trick,  but  useful  now  and  then.  Mr.  Flowers  is  n't  so  very 
wide-awake  as  folks  seem  to  think.  You  see,  it  would  n't 
have  done  to  knock  him  out  here;  he  might  have  upset 
the  table." 

"  Knock  out  Bud !  "  cried  Spike,  aghast.  "  But  there 
ain't  nobody  can  lick  Bud  M'Ginnis !  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  Spike.  Anyway,  we  '11  see  what 
can  be  done  —  outside !  After  you,  Mr.  Flowers  !  Pray 
go  first,  Mr.  Flowers !  A  fellow  who  would  attack  a  man 
sitting  down  is  n't  to  be  trusted  behind  one  —  so,  after 
you,  Mr.  Flowers.  Oh,  we  '11  wait  until  you  can  use  your 
arm,  but  we  '11  wait  outside.  Miss  Chesterton's  flat  is  no 
place  for  your  sort,  so  —  out  with  you,  and  quick  — 
d'  ye  hear?  " 

M'Ginnis  opened  his  lips  to  retort,  but  passion  choked 
him,  and  snarling  unintelligibly,  he  turned  and  strode  out 
upon  the  landing.  As  they  stood  fronting  each  other, 
very  silent  and  grim  and  menacing,  running  feet  were 
heard  ascending  the  stairs,  and  a  slender  boy  appeared, 
who,  perceiving  M'Ginnis,  panted  out: 

"  Say,  Bud,  O'Rourke  's  been  pinched  by  d'  cops !  He 
wants  ye  t'  skin  over  an'  fix  it  up  —  " 

"  O'Rourke  pinched  ?  "  growled  M'Ginnis.  "  Say  you, 
Larry,  what  yer  givin'  me?  " 


104          The  Definite  Object 

"  S'  right,  Bud,  dere  's  a  noo  captain  on  d'  precinct,  an' 
he 's  pinched  O'Rourke.  'N'  say,  Bud,  d'  game 's  all 
balled  up ;  d'  push  is  all  up  in  d'  air.  'N'  say,  O'Rourke  's 
crazy  an'  can't  do  nothin',  so  he  sent  me  t'  fetch  ye. 
You  're  d'  only  one  as  can  fix  d'  police,  so  come  on  right 
now  before  d'  whole  show 's  busted  up."  During  this 
breathless  speech  the  narrowed  eyes  of  M'Ginnis  never  left 
Ravenslee's  pale,  placid  face,  and  in  the  persistence  of  this 
ferocious  glare  was  something  animal-like. 

"  Say,  you  —  Mr.  Butt-in !  "  said  he,  "  I  ain't  through 
wid  you  —  not  by  a  whole  lot  I  ain't.  Oh,  I  '11  get  ye  yet, 
an'  I  '11  get  ye  good !  There  won't  be  nothin'  left  for 
nobody  else  when  I  'm  through  wid  you.  Savvy  this  — 
there  ain't  nobody  ever  goin'  t'  queer  me  with  Hermy  Ches 
terton.  Oh,  I  '11  get  ye  good,  an'  I  '11  get  ye  —  soon !  " 

So  saying,  Bud  M'Ginnis  turned,  and  went  slowly  and 
unwillingly  down  the  stair. 

"  Gee,  but  I  'm  glad  he  's  gone !  "  said  Spike,  as  he 
closed  the  door.  "  Gee,  but  I  'm  —  glad !  "  and  he  drew 
a  deep  breath. 

"  So  am  I ! "  said  Ravenslee,  sinking  into  the  arm 
chair,  "  but  there  's  always  to-morrow,  is  n't  there  ?  " 

But  instead  of  replying,  Spike  stood  to  stare  on  Ravens- 
lee  with  eyes  of  admiring  awe. 

"  I  guess  you  know  how  t'  handle  y'  self,  Geoff,"  said  he. 

"  I  used  to  think  I  could,  once  upon  a  time,"  answered 
Ravenslee,  stooping  to  recover  his  pipe. 

"  That  sure  was  some  wallop  you  handed  him !  " 

"  'T  was  fair,  I  thank  you,  comrade !  " 

"  I  shall  be  awful  sorry  to  have  you  leave  me,  Geoff." 

"  Leave  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  heard  what  he  said?  " 

"  Yes,  I  heard." 

"  An'  you  know  what  he  meant?  " 

"  I  can  guess." 

"  You  'd  best  skin  out  o'  Mulligan's  first  thing  to 
morrow." 

"What  for?" 


Antagonism  is  Born  105 

"  Bud  says  you  must,  an'  he  '11  make  you,  worse  luck !  " 

"Oh,  how?" 

"  Well,"  said  Spike  in  low,  troubled  tones,  "  he  '11  sic 
d'  gang  on  to  you  if  you  don't  make  your  getaway  while 
you  can  —  " 

"  By  God !  "  exclaimed  Ravenslee,  his  eyes  suddenly  very 
bright,  "  I  never  thought  of  that !  " 

"  Yes,  so  I  'm  thinking  you  'd  best  skin  off  t'night, 
Geoff !  "  sighed  the  lad  gloomily,  whereupon  Ravenslee, 
pocketing  his  pipe,  clapped  him  joyously  upon  the 
shoulder. 

"  Banish  that  dejection,  my  comrade,"  said  he,  "  for 
now,  my  Arthur-Spike,  *  now  is  the  winter  of  our  discon 
tent  made  glorious  summer  in  this  brutal  Bud  '  and  —  " 

"  What  yer  mean,  Geoff?  " 

"  I  mean  that  life's  erstwhile  dull  monotony  is  like  to  be 
forgotten  quite  in  the  vigorous,  exhilarating  air  of  Hell's 
Kitchen.  Hell's  Kitchen  suits  me  admirably,  consequently 
in  Hell's  Kitchen  I  '11  stay." 

"  Stay?  Geoff,  are  ye  crazy?  What  about  Bud 
M'Ginnis?" 

"  M'Ginnis,  my  Arthur?  Oh,  Bud  M'Ginnis  may  be  — 
hush !  Straighten  the  cloth  yonder,  Spike ;  she  's  coming 
at  last,  by  Heaven !  " 


CHAPTER    XII 

CONTAINING  SOME  DESCRIPTION  OF  A  SUPPER  PARTY 

"  OH  !  "  said  Hermione,  as  she  caught  sight  of  Ravenslee's 
tall  figure,  "  you  've  come  then,  Mr.  Geoffrey  ?  I  've  been 
hoping  and  praying  you  would  n't !  I  mean  —  "  she 
added  hastily,  in  answer  to  his  look,  "  I  mean  I  have  only 
two  miserable  little  chops  for  supper." 

"  S'  all  right,  Hermy !  "  cried  Spike.  "  I  told  you  not 
to  worry  about  the  eats.  Look  what 's  here  —  stand  out 
o'  the  light,  Geoff,  so  she  can  see  the  table !  " 

"  Why  —  why  —  what 's  all  this  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  star 
ing  at  the  numerous  well-filled  dishes  with  blue  eyes  very 
wide.  "  Oh,  goodness  gracious  —  me !  "  and  she  turned 
to  look  at  Mr.  Ravenslee,  who,  meeting  that  wondering 
glance,  actually  found  himself  stammering  again. 

"  The  fact  is,  Miss  Hermione  —  er  —  I  say  the  fact  is 
we  —  Arthur  and  I  —  are  giving  a  little  supper  to-night 
in  honour  of  —  of  —  er  —  my  birthday." 

"  You  bet  we  are,  Hermy !  "  added  Spike.  "  Will  you 
pipe  the  turk'?" 

"  We  have  been  waiting  for  you,"  continued  Ravenslee, 
placing  a  chair  for  her,  "  you  see  —  er  —  you  are  to  be 
our  guest  of  honour  —  if  you  will?" 

"  Sure  you  are !  "  nodded  Spike,  "  and  I  'm  head-waiter, 
eater-in-chief  t'  the  turk'  while  she  lasts,  an'  chief  mourner 
when  she  's  gone  —  so  now  I  '11  go  an'  make  th'  tea,  only 
don't  begin  without  me  —  a  fair  start  an'  all  together, 
see?  "  and  he  vanished  into  the  kitchen. 

"  But  —  a  whole  turkey !  "  said  Hermione,  viewing  it 
with  feminine,  knowledgeful  eyes,  "  and  then  all  this  ham 
and  tongue  and  —  Mr.  Geoffrey,  how  extravagant  of 


A  Supper  Party  107 

you !  "  And  she  shook  her  shapely  head  at  him  reprov 
ingly  but  with  a  smile  curving  her  red  lips ;  and  lo  !  there 
was  the  shining  curl  above  her  eyebrow  again,  more  wan 
tonly  alluring  than  usual.  "  Whatever  made  you  buy 
so  much?  " 

"  Mr.  Pffeffenfifer !  "  answered  Ravenslee,  staring  at  the 
radiant  curl,  whereupon  she,  becoming  aware  of  it,  would 
have  sent  it  into  immediate  retirement  among  its  many 
fellows  but  that  he  stayed  her  humbly. 

"  Please  don't !  "  he  said. 

"  But  it  —  tickles !  " 

"  Well,  let  it !  " 

"But  — why  should  I?" 

"  For  —  Arthur's  sake." 

"  Arthur's !  "  she  laughed.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  as  if 
he  would  ever  notice !  " 

"  Well,  then,  for  the  —  er  —  turkey's  sake !  " 

"  The  turkey  !j'  she  laughed.  "  I  'm  afraid  I  'm  dread 
fully  untidy  to  sit  down  at  such  a  luxurious  feast." 

"  Are  you  ?  " 

"  Well  —  am  I  not?    Look  at  this  poor  old  gown !  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  did  n't  notice  your  —  er  —  gown." 

"What  did  I  tell  you,  Hermy?  "  said  Spike,  entering 
with  the  teapot.  "  Geoff  ain't  —  I  mean,  is  n't  —  that  • 
kind  o'  guy  —  I  mean  mutt  —  no,  I  mean  feller.  Y'  see, 
Geoff,  a  girl  always  thinks  a  feller  's  got  his  lamps  —  I 
mean  eyes  —  on  their  rags  —  clo'es,  I  mean.  'S'  funny, 
ain't  it  ?  Gee,  but  I  'm  hungry !  " 

"  So  am  I !  "  said  Hermione. 

"  So  am  I !  "  said  Ravenslee. 

"  Why,  then,"  quoth  Spike,  "  I  '11  tell  you  what  —  let 's 
all  sit  down  and  eat !  I  guess  I  'm  full  o'  brilliant  ideas 
t'night,  but  this  ain't  no  time  for  talk  —  not  with  that 
turkey  starin'  us  in  the  face,  it  ain't  —  is  n't,  I  mean. 
So  quit  chewin'  d'  rag  an'  let 's  chew  d'  turk'  instead  — 
an'  Gee,  but  that 's  some  brilliant  too,  I  guess !  " 

So  down  they  sat,  and  while  Hermione  presided  over 
the  cups  and  saucers,  Ravenslee  carved. 


io8          The  Definite  Object 

"  Light  or  dark  meat,  Miss  Hermione  ?  "  he  enquired. 

"  Hermy  likes  th'  light,  but  a  drumstick  for  mine  —  an' 
please  don't  forget  th'  stuffin',  Geoff !  " 

"  Tea,  Mr.  Geoffrey?  " 

"  Thanks !  "  he  answered,  pausing  to  watch  the  curve 
of  her  shapely  neck  as  she  bent  to  pour  the  tea,  and  to 
note  how  her  white  hand  grasped  the  battered  teapot, 
little  finger  delicately  poised. 

"  Say,  Geoff  —  get  busy !  "  said  Spike  wistfully.  "  I 
know  the  teapot 's  a  bit  off  on  looks,  but  I  broke  the  best 
one  and  —  " 

"  I  did  n't  even  notice  the  teapot,  Spike,"  said  Ravens- 
lee,  meeting  Hermione's  quick,  upward  glance. 

"  Oh,  cheese  it,  Geoff,  here  you  've  sat  with  your  fork 
in  th'  turk'  an'  your  knife  in  th'  air,  starin'  at  that  teapot 
a  whole  minute." 

"  No,  Spike,  no !  I  was  only  thinking  that  tea  never 
tastes  quite  right  unless  poured  out  by  a  woman's  hand  — 
and  the  fairer  the  hand  the  better  the  tea !  " 

"Which  means  —  just  what,  Mr.  Geoffrey?"  laughed 
Hermione. 

"  Why,  that  Spike  and  I  are  about  to  drink  the  most 
delicious  tea  in  the  world,  of  course." 

"  I  'd  rather  be  eatin'  that  turk'  when  you  've  sawed  me 
off  a  leg,"  sighed  Spike.  "  I  say  —  when  you  have !  " 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure !  "  said  Ravenslee,  turning  his  attention 
to  his  carving  again,  while  Hermione  bowed  her  golden 
head  above  the  teacups. 

"  Gee,  but  she  cuts  tender !  "  quoth  Spike ;  "  that  bird 
sure  has  the  Indian  sign  on  me !  " 

"  Sugar,  Mr.  Geoffrey?  " 

"  Two  lumps,  please." 

"  Milk,  Mr.  Geoffrey?  " 

"Thank  you!" 

"  Geoff,"  said  Spike  wearily,  "I  cracked  that  milk  jug 
last  night,  but  you  don't  have  to  sit  starin'  at  it  that 
way,  an'  me  dyin'  of  hunger  by  inches ! " 

"  My  humble  apologies !  "  said  Ravenslee,  wresting  his 


A  Supper  Party  109 

gaze  from  a  certain  curl  and  fixing  it  upon  the  turkey 
again,  "  I  Jm  a  little  —  er  —  distracted  to-night,  it 
seems.'* 

"  Oh,  Gee ! "  said  Spike  in  a  hopeless  tone,  "  now 
Hermy  's  gone  an'  filled  my  cup  with  milk." 

"  Why,  boy  dear,  so  I  have !  "  she  confessed,  with  a  rue 
ful  laugh,  and  her  cheeks  were  very  pink  as  she  rectified 
her  mistake. 

"  Are  you  distracted  too,  then?  "  demanded  Spike. 

"  No,  I  —  I  don't  think  so  —  no,  no  —  of  course  I  'm 
not!  I  —  I  was  just  —  thinking,  that's  all!" 

"  Not  about  tea,  I  reckon !  Say,  what 's  gettin'  you 
two,  anyway?  " 

"  Arthur,"  said  she  serenely,  as  she  passed  his  tea, 
"  please  fetch  some  more  hot  water." 

Spike  sighed,  rose,  and  taking  the  jug,  went  upon  his 
mission. 

"  And  how  do  you  like  Mulligan's,  Mr.  Geoffrey?  "  en 
quired  Hermione,  regarding  him  with  her  calm,  level  eyes. 

"  Very  much,"  he  answered,  "  I  like  it  better  and  better. 
I  think  —  no,  I  'm  sure  I  would  rather  be  in  Mulligan's 
than  anywhere  else  in  the  world." 

"Oh!    Why?" 

Down  went  carving  knife  and  fork,  and  leaning  toward 
her  he  answered :  "  Because  in  Mulligan's,  among  many 
other  wonders,  I  have  found  something  more  beautiful 
and  far  more  wonderful  than  I  ever  dreamed  of  finding." 

"  In  Mulligan's  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  her  amazement. 

"  In  Mulligan's,"  he  answered  gravely.  Now  here,  all 
at  once,  her  glance  wavered  and  sank  before  his. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  enquired,  staring  into  her 
cup. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you?  " 

"  Yes  —  no !  "  she  murmured  hastily  and  a  little  breath 
lessly,  as  Spike  reentered,  and  paused,  jug  in  hand,  to 
stare. 

"  What  —  have  n't  you  served  Hermy  —  yet  ?  "  he  en 
quired  in  an  injured  tone. 


iio  The  Definite  Object 

"  Certainly  I  have,"  answered  Ravenslee,  "  here  it  is, 
you  see  —  all  ready !  " 

"  Only  you  forgot  t'  hand  it  t'  her,  and  she  forgot  t' 
take  it.  Well,  say  —  for  hungry  folks  you  two  are  the 
limit!" 

"  *  Man  doth  not  live  by  bread  alone,'  boy ;  we  were 
talking,"  said  Ravenslee,  handing  Hermione  her  plate. 

"  You  said  you  liked  milk  and  sugar,  did  n't  you,  Mr. 
Geoffrey?  " 

"  Holy  Gee !  "  murmured  Spike. 

"  Milk  and  sugar,  thank  you,"  said  Ravenslee,  heedful 
of  her  deepened  colour. 

"  Geoff,"  enquired  Spike  gently,  "  if  I  was  to  hang  on 
to  that  drumstick,  d'  ye  suppose  you  might  be  able  to 
hack  it  off  for  me  —  some  day?  " 

"  My  Arthur,"  said  Ravenslee,  plying  knife  and  fork 
energetically,  "  't  is  done  —  behold  it !  " 

"  But  surely,"  said  Hermione,  glancing  up  suddenly, 
"  surely  you  don't  —  like  Mulligan's,  Mr.  Geoffrey  ?  " 

"Like  it,  Miss  Hermione?     I  —  abominate  it!" 

"Oh!" 

"  Say,  Geoff,"  mourned  Spike,  "  don't  I  get  any  stuffin* 
after  all?  " 

"  Mr.  Geoffrey,  I  've  been  wondering  how  you  and 
Arthur  met  —  and  where,  and  —  " 

"  Gee,  Hermy !  "  Spike  exclaimed,  "  you  sure  do  talk ! 
If  you  go  on  asking  poor  old  Geoff  s'  many  questions, 
he  '11  forget  t'  serve  himself  this  week.  Look  at  his 
plate !  " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  do  serve  yourself,  please,  and  — 
oh,  my  gracious !  I  've  forgotten  to  give  you  your  tea ; 
I  'm  so  sorry !  " 

Here  Spike,  having  once  again  staved  off  the  inevitable 
explanation,  grew  hilarious,  and  they  laughed  and  talked 
the  while  they  ate  and  drank  with  youthful,  healthy 
appetites.  And  what  a  supper  that  was!  What  tongue 
could  tell  the  gaiety  and  utter  content  that  possessed 
them  all  three?  What  pen  describe  all  Hermione's  glow- 


A  Supper  Party  1 1 1 

ing  beauty,  or  how  her  blue  eyes,  meeting'  eyes  of  grey 
would,  for  no  perceptible  reason,  grow  sweetly  troubled, 
waver  in  their  glance,  and  veil  themselves  beneath  sudden, 
down-drooping  lashes?  What  mere  words  could  ever  de 
scribe  all  the  subtle,  elusive  witchery  of  her? 

And  Spike  —  ate,  of  course,  in  a  blissful  silence  for  the 
most  part  and  whole-heartedly,  his  attention  centred  ex 
clusively  upon  his  plate ;  thus  how  should  he  know  or  care 
how  often,  across  that  diminished  turkey,  grey  eyes  looked 
into  blue?  As  for  Ravenslee,  he  ate  and  drank  he  knew 
and  cared  not  what,  content  to  sit  and  watch  her  when 
he  might  —  the  delicious  curves  of  white  neck  and  full, 
round  throat,  the  easy  grace  of  movement  that  spoke  her 
vigorous  youth;  joying  in  the  soft  murmurs  of  her  voice, 
the  low,  sweet  ring  of  her  laughter,  and  thrilling  respon 
sive  to  her  warm  young  womanhood. 

"  But  Mr.  Geoffrey,"  she  enquired  suddenly,  "  if  you 
hate  Mulligan's  as  much  as  I  do,  whatever  made  you  choose 
to  live  here?  " 

"  A  thrice  blessed  fate,"  he  answered,  "  I  came  because 
—  er  —  " 

"  You  were  a  poor,  lonely  guy,"  added  Spike  hastily. 

"  Precisely,  Spike !  Compared  to  my  sordid  poverty 
Lazarus  was  rich,  and  as  for  the  loneliness  of  my  exist 
ence  the  —  er  —  abomination  of  desolation  was  a  flowery 
garden !  " 

"  And  how  did  you  happen  to  meet  Ar  —  " 

A  plate  crashed  to  pieces  on  the  floor,  and  turning,  she 
beheld  Spike  very  red  and  rueful  of  visage. 

"  'Fraid  I  've  bent  a  plate,  Hermy,"  he  explained,  and 
winking  desperately  at  Ravenslee,  he  stooped  to  gather 
up  the  fragments. 

"  Oh,  Arthur,  and  we  have  so  few  —  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  —  but  it 's  only  the  old  cracked  one, 
Hermy." 

"  You  've  broken  an  awful  lot  of  things  lately,  boy 
dear,"  she  sighed.  "  Never  mind  —  get  on  with  your  sup 
per,  dear." 


ii2  The  Definite  Object 

"  Oh,  I  'm  all  right,  but  what  about  you?  Gee,  Hermy, 
you  sure  do  talk !  " 

"  Do  I,  dear?  " 

"  Well,  I  guess !  You  keep  on  at  poor  old  Geoff  so  he 
don't  get  a  chance  for  a  real  proper  chew." 

"  But  then  you  see,"  said  Ravenslee,  "  I  would  much 
rather  talk  than  eat  —  sometimes." 

"  But  say,  Geoff  —  " 

"  Miss  Hermione,  you  were  asking  how  I  met  —  " 

"  Hey,  Geoff !  "  said  Spike  hoarsely. 

"  How  I  met  your  brother,"  continued  Ravenslee,  silenc 
ing  the  boy  with  a  look.  "  Miss  Hermione,  I  '11  tell  you 
full  and  freely."  Here  Spike  took  a  gulp  of  tea  and 
choked,  also  his  brow  grew  clammy,  and  he  stared  with 
dilating  eyes  at  Ravenslee,  who  began  forthwith: 

"  Once  upon  a  time,  Miss  Hermione,  that  is  to  say  upon 
a  certain  dark  night,  a  man  sat  alone,  physically  and 
mentally  alone,  and  very  wretched  because  his  life  was 
empty  of  all  achievement  —  because,  having  been  blessed 
with  many  opportunities,  he  had  never  done  anything 
worth  while.  And  as  he  sat  there,  looking  back  through 
the  wasted  years,  this  miserable  fool  was  considering,  in 
his  wretched  folly,  the  cowardly  sin  of  self-destruction, 
because  he  was  sick  of  the  world  and  all  things  in  it  — 
especially  of  his  own  useless  self !  But  I  hope  I  don't  — 
er  —  bore  you,  do  I  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered  a  little  breathlessly,  gazing  at  him 
with  eyes  deep  and  tender  ;  "  go  on  —  please  go  on !  " 

"  Well,"  continued  Ravenslee  gravely,  "  Destiny,  or 
Heaven,  or  the  Almighty,  taking  pity  on  this  sorry  fool, 
sent  to  him  an  angel  in  the  shape  of  —  your  brother." 

"  Of  —  Arthur  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  while  Spike's  rigid  at 
titude  relaxed,  and  he  drew  a  sudden,  deep  breath. 

"  Of  Arthur !  "  nodded  Ravenslee.  "  And  Arthur  lifted 
him  out  of  the  Slough  of  Despond  and  taught  him  that  life 
might  be  a  useful  thing  after  all,  if  he  could  but  find  some 
object  to  help  him  —  one  who  might  inspire  him  to  nobler 
things.  And  so  he  came  here,  hoping  to  find  this  object." 


A  Supper  Party  113 

"An  object?  "  she  enquired  softly. 

"  The  Definite  Obj  ect !  "  he  answered,  "  with  capital 
letters.  One  who  might  make  life  truly  worth  while.  One 
who,  teaching  him  to  forget  himself,  should  lift  him  to 
better  things.  An  object  to  live  for,  work  for,  and  if 
necessary  to  —  die  for !  " 

Here  Spike,  finding  himself  utterly  forgotten  again, 
sighed  in  deep  and  audible  relief,  and  taking  up  knife  and 
fork,  fell  to  with  renewed  appetite,  while  Hermione,  chin 
rested  on  folded  hands,  gazed  into  Ravenslee's  grave  face. 

"  Do  you  think  he  will  ever  —  find  his  Obj  ect  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  " 

"  You  seem  very  —  confident." 

"  I  am !    You  see,  she  's  found." 

"  She? "  exclaimed  Hermione,  her  eyes  beginning  to 
waver. 

"  With  a  capital  S,"  said  he,  leaning  nearer.  "  The 
Woman !  And  it 's  right  here  that  his  difficulties  begin, 
because  in  the  first  place  he  is  so  humble  and  she  is  so 
proud  and  —  " 

"  Proud?  "  said  she,  glancing  up  swiftly. 

"  And  so  very  beautiful !  "  he  continued. 

"  Oh !  "  said  she,  and  this  time  she  did  not  look  at  him. 

"  Say,"  quoth  Spike,  "  I  think  I  could  go  another  drum 
stick,  Geoff." 

"  And  in  the  second  place,  he  is  so  unworthy  and  she 
so  —  " 

"  An'  a  bit  more  stuffin',  Geoff,"  sighed  Spike. 

"  Can  she  —  help  him  ?  "  enquired  Hermione,  stirring 
her  tea  absently. 

"  She  is  the  only  one  who  can  —  help  me." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Hermione  again,  very  softly  this  time,  stir 
ring  a  little  faster;  and,  conscious  of  his  glance,  flushed 
deliciously  and  was  silent  awhile.  As  for  Spike,  he  glanced 
from  one  rapt  face  to  the  other  and  —  unostentatiously 
helped  himself  to  more  turkey. 

"  But,"  said  Hermione  at  last,  "  how  can  —  she  help?  " 

"  By  constant  association,"  answered  Ravenslee,  "  by 


114          The  Definite  Object 

affording  me  the  daily  example  of  her  sweet  self-forgetful- 
ness  and  blameless  life." 

"  Are  you  sure  she  is  so  —  very  good  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  she  is  braver  and  nobler  than  any  woman 
I  have  ever  known !  " 

Once  more  Spike  glanced  from  the  flushed  beauty  of  his 
sister's  half-averted  face  to  Ravenslee's  shining  eyes,  and 
boldly  helped  himself  to  more  seasoning. 

"  Have  you  known  her  very  long,  Mr.  Geoffrey?  " 

"  Long  enough  to  know  she  is  —  the  only  woman !  " 

"  Say,  Geoff,"  sighed  Spike,  "  I  guess  old  Pffeff.  was 
right  about  this  bird ;  she  kind  o'  melts  —  'n'  say  —  she  's 
meltin'  fast !  If  you  two  don't  stop  chewin'  d'  rag  an'  get 
busy  you  '11  be  too  late  for  this  bird,  because  this  bird  is 
sure  a  bird  of  passage  and  —  Holy  Gee !  "  he  broke  off,  as 
a  knock  sounded  on  the  outer  door,  "  who  's  this,  I 
wonder?  " 

Before  he  could  rise,  Hermione  had  vanished  into  the 
passage. 

"  Say,  Geoff,"  he  whispered,  "  how  if  it 's  Bud?  " 

Ravenslee  frowned  and  pushed  back  his  chair,  but  in 
that  moment  they  heard  Hermione's  glad  welcome :  "  Why, 
Ann,  you  dear  thing,  you  're  just  in  time  for  the  turkey 
—  come  right  in." 

"  Turkey,  my  dear !  "  spoke  the  harsh  voice  of  Mrs. 
Trapes.  "  Turkey  —  land  sakes !  But  I  only  jest  stepped 
over  t'  ask  if  you  'd  happened  to  find  that  lodger  o'  mine 
anywheres  —  why,  Lord  bless  me !  "  she  broke  off,  halting 
in  the  doorway  as  she  beheld  Ravenslee.  "  Lordy  Lord,  if 
he  ain't  a-settin'  there,  cool  as  ever  was !  If  he  ain't 
a-eatin'  an'  drinkin'  an'  me  cookin'  him  at  this  moment 
the  loveliest  mutton  chop  you  ever  see!  A  mutton  chop 
wiv  a  kidney,  as  he  ordered  most  express  —  Lord,  Mr. 
Geoffrey !  " 

"  Why,  to  be  sure,"  said  Ravenslee,  rising.  "  I  forgot 
all  about  that  chop,  Mrs.  Trapes." 

"  Did  n't  you  order  it  most  express  —  cut  thick  —  an' 
wiv  a  kidney?  " 


A  Supper  Party  115 

"  I  did,"  said  Ravenslee  penitently. 

"  Well  —  there  it  is,  cooked  to  a  turn,  an*  nobody  tj 
eat  it !  An'  kidneys  is  rose  again  —  kidneys  is  always 
risin'.  Lord,  Mr.  Geoffrey !  " 

"  Why,  you  see,  Mrs.  Trapes,  we  —  that  is,  I  had  a 
birthday  not  long  ago,  and  we  're  celebrating." 

"  And  so  shall  you,  Ann,"  said  Hermione,  "  sit  down, 
dear !  " 

"  An'  me  in  me  oldest  apron  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  squar 
ing  her  elbows,  "  my  dear,  I  could  n't  —  an'  I  would  n't ! 
But,  oh!  Mr.  Geoffrey,  what  about  that  beautiful  chop? 
I  might  warm  it  over  for  your  breakfast?  " 

"Heaven  forbid!" 

"  Then  I  must  eat  it  myself,  I  suppose,  though  it  do 
seem  a  shame  to  waste  such  a  lovely  chop  on  Ann  Angelina 
Trapes!  But,  Hermy  dear,  I  just  been  down  to  see  Mrs. 
Bowker,  an'  her  little  Hazel 's  very  bad  —  her  poor  little 
hip  again,  an'  she  's  coughin'  too,  somethin'  dreadful." 

"  Poor  little  Hazel!    Did  she  ask  for  me,  Ann?  " 

"  Well,  my  dear,  she  did,  an'  Mrs.  Bowker  did  ask  if 
you  'd  go  an'  look  at  her  —  but  I  do  hate  t*  disturb  ye, 
that  I  do!" 

"Oh,  it's  all  right,  Ann.  Tell  Mrs.  Bowker  I'll  be 
right  down." 

"  I  will  so,  but  it 's  a  dratted  shame  as  you  should 
shoulder  everybody's  troubles,  that  it  is." 

"  Oh,  Ann  —  as  though  I  do !  And  then  how  about 
yourself,  dear  —  what  of  the  Baxters  and  the  Ryders, 
and  Mrs.  Tipping's  baby  and  —  " 

"  My  land !  "  cried  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  that  chop  '11  be  a 
cinder !  "  and  she  hurried  away. 

"  Poor  little  Hazel,"  said  Hermione,  coming  to  a  small 
corner  cupboard.  "  She  's  such  a  dear,  quaint  little  per 
son  !  You  must  have  seen  her  on  the  stairs,  Mr.  Geoffrey." 

"  I  see  so  many  on  the  stairs,  Miss  Hermione,  and  they 
are  always  small  and  generally  quaint." 

"  Hazel 's  got  a  game  leg,  Geoff,"  said  Spike,  "  an'  she 
hops  around  on  a  little  crutch.  She  told  me  yesterday 


n6          Th'e  Definite  Object 

she  thought  you  was  —  I  mean  were  —  a  fairy  prince, 
because  you  always  bow  an'  tip  your  lid  to  her  when  she 
says  '  good  morning.'  So  now  she  waits  for  you  every 
morning,  Geoff  —  says  it  makes  her  feel  like  she  was  a 
real  fairy  princess  in  a  story-book.  Sounds  kind  o'  batty 
to  me,  though." 

Hermione  was  standing  on  tiptoe  endeavouring  to  reach 
a  certain  bottle  upon  the  top  shelf  where  were  ranged 
many  others  of  various  shapes  and  sizes,  when  Ravenslee's 
big  hand  did  it  for  her;  but  when  she  would  have  taken 
it,  he  shook  his  head. 

"  I  should  like  to  go  with  you,  if  I  may,"  he  said,  "  to 
be  —  er  —  formally  introduced  to  the  princess." 

"  But  —  "  began  Hermione,  hesitating. 

"  Also  I  could  carry  the  bottle  for  you." 

"  Why,  if  you  will  do  all  that  —  "  she  smiled. 
-   "  Thanks !  "  he  answered,  and  putting  the  bottle  in  his 
pocket,  he  opened  the  door. 

"  Hey,  Geoff,"  Spike  called  after  him,  "  you  've  forgot 
to  kiss  the  turkey  good-by ! " 

"  Why  then,  you  can  do  it  for  me,  Spike !  "  he  answered, 
and  followed  Hermione  out  upon  the  landing. 

Side  by  side  they  descended  the  stair,  in  the  doing  of 
which  her  soft  shoulder  met  him  once,  and  once  he  thrilled 
to  feel  her  hand  touch  his  in  the  shadow,  but  this  hand 
was  hastily  withdrawn;  also,  though  the  light  was  dim, 
he  saw  that  she  was  frowning  and  biting  her  red  underlip. 

"These  stairs  are  rather  —  narrow,  aren't  they?" 
said  she,  drawing  to  the  wall. 

"  Delightfully !  "  he  answered,  drawing  to  the  rail ;  and 
so  they  went  down  very  silently  with  the  width  of  the 
stairs  between  them. 


CHAPTER    XHI 

WHEREIN   MAY   BE   FOUND   SOME   PARTICULARS   OP   THE 
BEAUTIFUL    CITY    OF    PERHAPS 

MRS.  BOWKER  was  a  small  woman,  worn  and  faded  like  her 
carpets  and  curtains  and  the  dress  she  wore,  but,  like  them, 
she  was  very  clean  and  neat. 

"  'T  is  real  good  of  you  to  come,  Miss  Hermy,"  said 
this  small,  faded  woman,  and  Ravenslee  thought  her  very 
voice  sounded  faded,  so  repressed  and  dismally  soft  was 
it.  "  I  would  n't  have  had  the  face  t*  send  for  you,  Miss 
Hermy,  only  Hazel  calls  an'  calls,  like  she  's  doin'  now  — 
listen !  " 

And  sure  enough  from  somewhere  near  by  a  small  voice 
reached  them,  pitifully  faint  and  thin :  "  Hermy  dear, 
come  t'  me  —  oh,  Hermy  dear !  " 

"  She  allus  lays  an'  calls  like  that  lately  when  her  poor 
hip  's  worse  'n  usual,"  sighed  Mrs.  Bowker.  "  And  your 
gentleman  friend  —  would  he  like  t'  see  her  too?" 

"  Thank  you,  I  should,"  answered  Ravenslee  in  his  soft, 
pleasant  voice. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Bowker,  this  is  Mr.  Geoffrey,"  said  Hermione 
a  trifle  hurriedly,  "  he  came  with  me  to  —  to  —  " 

"  Be  presented  to  the  princess,  if  she  will  honour  me," 
he  added. 

"  Ah !  "  said  Mrs.  Bowker,  looking  up  at  him  with  a 
faded  smile,  "  Hazel  told  me  you  had  a  pretty  voice,  sir, 
an'  I  guess  I  know  what  she  meant.  She  sets  out  on  the 
stairs  when  she  's  well  enough  an'  has  often  seen  ye." 

"  Hermy,  dear,  come  t'  me  —  oh,  Hermy  dear !  "  called 
the  little  voice. 

"  Yes,  go  in,  my  dear,  you  know  y'  way,  I  guess," 


n8  The  Definite  Object 

sighed  Mrs.  Bowker,  passing  a  small,  worn  hand  across 
her  faded  eyes.  "  There  's  five  dozen  more  collar-bands 
I  must  stitch  an'  buttonhole  t'night  —  so  go  your  ways, 
my  dear."  So  saying,  Mrs.  Bowker  went  back  to  her 
labour,  which  was  very  hard  labour  indeed,  while  Hermione 
led  the  way  into  a  tiny  room,  where,  on  a  small,  neat 
truckle-bed  covered  by  a  faded  quilt,  a  small,  pale  child 
lay  fading  fast.  But  at  sight  of  her  visitors,  two  big, 
brown  eyes  grew  bigger  yet,  and  her  pale,  thin  little  cheeks 
flushed  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  Hermy  dear ! "  she  cried,  clasping  frail  hands, 
"  oh,  Hermy,  you  've  brought  him  —  you  've  brought  me 
our  fairy  prince  at  last !  " 

Now  what  was  there  in  these  childish  words  to  cause 
Hermione's  eyes  to  droop  so  suddenly  as  she  took  the 
bottle  from  Ravenslee's  hand,  or  her  rounded  cheek  to 
flush  so  painfully  as  she  stooped  to  meet  the  child's  eager 
kiss,  or,  when  she  turned  away  to  measure  a  dose  of  the 
medicine,  to  be  such  an  unconscionable  time  over  it?  Ob 
serving  all  of  which,  Ravenslee  forthwith  saluted  the 
small  invalid  with  a  grave  bow,  battered  hat  gracefully 
flourished. 

"  It  is  truly  an  honour  to  meet  you,  princess !  "  said  he, 
and  lifting  the  child's  frail  little  hand,  he  touched  it  to 
his  lips.  Thereafter,  obeying  the  mute  appeal  of  that 
hand,  he  seated  himself  upon  the  narrow  bed,  while  Her 
mione,  soft-voiced  and  tender,  bent  above  the  invalid,  who, 
having  obediently  swallowed  her  medicine,  leaned  back  on 
her  pillow  and  smiled  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  And  now,"  said  she,  drawing  Hermione  down  at  her 
other  side  and  snuggling  between,  "  now  please  let 's  all 
tell  some  more  fairy  tale;  an'  please,  you  begin,  Hermy, 
just  where  you  had  t'  leave  off  last  time." 

"  Why,  I  —  I  'm  afraid  I  've  forgotten,  dear,"  said 
Hermione,  bending  to  smooth  the  child's  pillow. 

"  Forgotten  —  oh,  Hermy !  But  I  'member  quite  well ; 
you  got  where  poor  Princess  Nobody  was  climbing  the 
mountain  very  tired  an'  sad  an'  carrying  her  heavy  pack, 


The  Beautiful  City  of  Perhaps     ng 

an'  all  at  once  —  along  came  the  Prince  an'  took  her  heavy 
bundle  an'  said  he  'd  love  to  carry  it  for  her  always  if 
she  'd  let  him.  An'  poor  Nobody  knew  he  was  the  real 
Prince  at  last  —  the  Prince  she  'd  dreamed  of  an'  waited 
for  all  her  life,  'cos  he  'd  got  grey  eyes  so  brave  an'  true 
—  an'  he  was  so  big  an'  strong  an'  noble.  So  he  helped 
her  to  the  top  of  the  mountain,  an'  then  she  thought  at 
last  she  could  see  the  beautiful  City  of  Perhaps.  That 's 
where  you  got  to  —  don't  you  'member,  Hermy  dear?  " 

Now  why  should  Hermione's  shapely  head  have  drooped 
and  drooped  until  at  last  her  face  was  hidden  on  the 
pillow?  And  why  should  Geoffrey  Ravenslee  reach  to 
touch  the  child's  hair  with  hand  so  light  and  tender? 

"  The  beautiful  City  of  Perhaps,"  said  he  gently,  "  why, 
Princess,  where  did  you  learn  about  that?  " 

"  From  dear  Princess  Nobody,  oh,  Prince !  " 

"  And  who  is  she?  " 

"  Why,  she  's  Hermy,  Prince  —  and  I  'm  Princess  Some 
body.  And  oh,  Hermy  dear,  you  do  'member  where  you 
left  off  now,  don't  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  remember;  but  I  —  don't  feel  like  telling  fairy 
stories  now,  dear." 

"  Oh !  are  y'  sick?  "  cried  the  child  anxiously,  touching 
Hermione's  golden  hair  with  loving  fingers,  "  is  it  a  head 
ache  like  my  mumsey  gets  ?  " 

"  N-no,  dear,  only  I  —  I  don't  feel  like  telling  any  more 
of  our  story  —  to-night  —  somehow,  dear." 

"  Princess,"  said  Ravenslee,  "  do  you  know  much  about 
the  wonderful  City  of  Perhaps?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  —  an'  I  dream  about  it  sometimes,  Prince  — 
such  beautiful  dreams  !  " 

"  Why,  of  course,"  nodded  Ravenslee,  "  because  it  is 
the  most  beautiful  City  that  ever  happened,  I  guess !  " 

"  Oh,  it  is !  "  cried  the  child,  "  shall  I  tell  you?  " 

"  Please  do,  Princess." 

"  Well,  it 's  all  made  of  crystal  an'  gold,  an'  every  one  's 
happy  there  and  never  sick  —  oh,  never !  An'  all  the  chil 
dren  can  have  ices  an'  cream  sodas  whenever  they  want 


I2O          The  Definite  Object 

an'  lovely  doll-carriages  with  rubber  on  the  wheels  an'  — 
an'  everything's  just  lovely.  Of  course  every  one's 
daddy  's  got  lots  an'  heaps  an'  piles  of  money,  so  they 
never  get  behind  with  the  rent  an'  never  have  to  set  up  all 
night  stitching  an'  stitching  like  mumsey  an'  Hermy  have 
to  sometimes.  An'  I  'm  Princess  Somebody,  an'  Hermy  's 
Princess  Nobody,  an'  we  're  on  our  ways  through  the  val 
ley  of  gloom,  trying  to  find  the  beautiful  City  of  Perhaps 

—  but  oh,  it 's  awful  hard  to  find !  "  she  ended,  with  a 
weary  little  sigh. 

"  And  yet,  Princess,  I  'm  sure  we  shall  find  it." 

"We?  Oh,  are  you  coming  too,  Prince?"  cried  the 
child  joyfully. 

"  To  be  sure  I  am !  "  nodded  Ravenslee. 

"  Oh,  goody,  I  'm  glad  —  so  glad,  'cause  I  know  we  shall 
find  it  now !  " 

"Why?" 

"  Well,"  answered  the  child,  looking  at  him  with  her  big, 
wistful  eyes,  "  'cause  you  look  like  you  could  find  it,  some 
how.  You  see,  Prince,  you  've  got  grey  eyes  so  brave  an' 
true  —  an'  you  're  big  an'  strong  an'  could  carry  me  an' 
Hermy  over  the  thorny  places  when  we  get  very,  very  tired 

—  could  n't  you?  " 

"  I  could !  "  answered  Ravenslee  almost  grimly,  "  and 
I  —  surely  will !  " 

"  When  we  get  there,  Prince,  I  want  first  —  a  doll- 
carriage  an'  a  doll  with  lovely  blue  eyes  that  wink  at  you, 
an'  a  big  box  of  candy,  an'  a  new  dress  for  my  mumsey, 
an'  no  more  work,  an'  I  want  lots  an'  lots  of  flowers  for 
my  daddy  'cause  he  loves  flowers  —  oh,  an'  I  want  my  leg 
t'  be  made  well.  What  d'  you  want,  Hermy?  " 

"  Well,  dear,  I  want  to  —  say  good-by  to  my  sewing- 
machine  for  ever  and  ever  and  ever !  " 

"  Why,  Hermy !  "  exclaimed  the  child,  "  last  time  you 
said  you  wanted  some  one  who  could  give  you  your  heart's 
desire !  " 

"  Perhaps  that  is  my  heart's  desire,  little  Hazel,"  said 
Hermione,  rising  and  taking  up  the  medicine  bottle. 


The  Beautiful  City  of  Perhaps     121 

"  An'  what  do  you  want,  Prince  ?  " 

"  I  want  a  great  deal,"  answered  Ravenslee,  smiling 
down  into  the  big,  soft  eyes.  "  I  want  some  one  who  —  is 
my  heart's  desire  now  and  for  ever  and  ever.  Good  night, 
dear  little  Princess !  " 

"  You  '11  come  again,  Prince?  "  she  pleaded,  holding  up 
her  face  to  be  kissed,  "  you  '11  come  again  soon?  " 

"  As  soon  as  —  Princess  Nobody  will  bring  me." 

"  Good  night,  Hermy  dear ;  you  '11  bring  our  Prince 
again  soon?  " 

"  If  you  wish,  dear,"  said  Hermione,  stooping  to  kiss 
her  in  turn. 

"  Why,  Hermy  —  what  makes  your  cheeks  so  hot 
to-night?" 

"Are  they?"  said  Hermione,  making  pretence  to  test 
them  with  the  back  of  her  hand. 

"  Why,  yes,"  nodded  the  child,  "  an'  they  look  so  red 
an'  —  " 

"  Of  course  you  believe  in  fairies,  don't  you,  Princess?  " 
enquired  Ravenslee  rather  hurriedly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Prince,  I  often  see  them  in  my  dreams.  They 
just  wait  till  I  'm  asleep,  an'  then  they  come  an'  show 
themselves.  Do  you  ever  see  any?  " 

"  Well,  your  highness,  I  fancy  I  have  lately,  and  when 
fairies  are  around,  things  are  sure  to  happen ;  wishes  get 
the  habit  of  coming  true.  So,  little  Princess,  just  go  on 
wishing  and  dreaming  and  —  watch  out !  " 

Then  Ravenslee  turned  and  followed  Hermione  out  upon 
the  dingy  landing;  but  as  he  climbed  the  stair,  there  went 
with  him  the  memory  of  a  little  face,  very  thin  and  pale, 
but  radiant  and  all  aglow  with  rapturous  hope.  Silently 
as  they  had  come  they  mounted  the  stairs,  until,  reach 
ing  the  topmost  landing,  they  paused  as  by  mutual 
consent. 

"  Poor  little  Hazel !  "  said  Hermione  very  gently,  "  if 
only  there  were  real  fairies  to  spirit  her  away  to  where  the 
air  is  sweet  and  pure  and  flowers  grow  for  little  hands  to 
gather  —  the  doctor  told  me  it  was  her  only  chance." 


122          The  Definite  Object 

"  Why,  then  of  course  she  must  have  her  chance !  "  said 
Ravenslee  with  a  sleepy  nod. 

"  But,  Mr.  Geoffrey  —  how?  " 

"  Well  —  er  - —  the  fairies  —  you  said  something  about 
fairies  spiriting  —  " 

"  The  fairies !  "  said  Hermione  a  little  bitterly,  "  I 
guess  they  are  too  busy  over  their  own  affairs  to  trouble 
about  a  poor,  little,  sick  child;  besides,  what  fairy  could 
possibly  live  five  minutes  in  —  Mulligan's  ?  " 

"  Which  leaves  us,"  said  Ravenslee  thoughtfully, 
"  which  leaves  us  the  beautiful  City  of  Perhaps.  It  is  a 
wonderful  thought,  that !  " 

"  But  only  a  thought !  "  she  sighed. 

"  Is  it  ?    Are  you  quite  sure  ?  " 

"  Well,  isn't  it?"  she  questioned  wistfully. 

"  No !  "  he  answered  gravely,  "  the  City  of  Perhaps  is 
very,  very  real." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Once  again  their  hands  touched  in  the  shadow,  but  this 
time  his  fingers  closed  upon  her  hand,  the  hand  that  held 
the  medicine  bottle,  drawing  her  nearer  in  the  dimness  of 
that  dingy  landing. 

"  I  mean,"  he  answered,  "  that  for  every  one  of  us  there 
is  a  City  of  Perhaps  waiting  to  open  its  gates  to  our  com 
ing,  and  I  am  sure  we  shall  reach  it  sooner  or  later,  all 
three  of  us  —  the  Princess  and  you  and  I  —  yes,  even  I, 
when  I  have  done  something  worth  while.  And  then,  Her 
mione,  then  —  nothing  shall  keep  me  from  —  my  heart's 
delight  —  nothing,  Hermione !  "  As  he  ended,  she  felt  an 
arm  about  her  in  the  dimness;  an  arm  fierce  and  strong 
that  gripped  and  swept  her  close  —  then,  as  suddenly, 
loosed  her.  For  a  breathless  moment  he  stood  with  head 
bowed  in  seeming  humility,  then,  stooping,  he  crushed  her 
hand,  medicine  bottle  and  all,  to  lips  that  burned  with 
anything  but  humility. 

"  Good  night,  dear  Princess  Nobody !  "  he  said,  and 
watched  her  turn  away,  nor  moved  until  the  door  had 
closed  upon  her.  That  night  he  smoked  many  pipes,  weav- 


The  Beautiful  City  of  Perhaps     123 

ing  him  fancies  of  the  beautiful  City  of  Perhaps,  and 
dreamed  dreams  of  what  might  be,  and  his  eyes  glowed 
bright  and  wide,  and  his  mouth  grew  alternately  grim  and 
tender.  And,  that  night,  long  after  he  lay  asleep,  Her- 
mione's  golden  head  was  bowed  above  her  work,  but,  more 
than  once  she  stayed  her  humming  sewing-machine  to  look 
at  one  white  hand  with  eyes  shy  and  wistful  —  the  hand 
that  had  held  the  medicine  bottle,  of  course. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

OF  A  TEXT,  A  LETTER,  AND  A  SONG 

RAVENSJJSE  opened  his  eyes  to  find  his  small  chamber  full 
of  a  glory  of  sun  which  poured  a  flood  of  radiance  across 
his  narrow  bed ;  it  brought  out  the  apoplectic  roses  on  the 
wall  paper  and  lent  a  new  lustre  to  the  dim  and  faded  gold 
frame  that  contained  a  fly-blown  card  whereon  was  the 
legend : 

LOVE    ONE    ANOTHER 

And  with  his  gaze  upon  this  time-honoured  text,  Ra- 
venslee  smiled,  and  leaping  out  of  bed  proceeded  to  wash 
and  shave  and  dress,  pausing  often  to  glance  glad-eyed 
from  his  open  window  upon  the  glory  of  the  new  day.  And 
indeed  it  was  a  morning  of  all-pervading  beauty,  insomuch 
that  even  Mulligan's,  its  dingy  bricks  and  mortar  mellowed 
by  the  sun,  seemed  less  unlovely  than  its  wont,  and  its 
many  windows,  catching  a  sunbeam  here  and  there,  winked 
and  twinkled  waggishly. 

So  Ravenslee  washed  and  shaved  and  dressed,  glancing 
now  and  then  from  this  transfigured  Mulligan's  to  the  fly 
blown  text  upon  the  wall,  and  once  he  laughed,  though  not 
very  loudly  to  be  sure,  and  once  he  hummed  a  song  and  so 
fell  to  soft  whistling,  all  of  which  was  very  strange  in 
Geoffrey  Ravenslee. 

The  sun,  it  is  true,  radiates  life  and  joy;  before  his 
beneficence  gloom  and  depression  flee  away,  and  youth  and 
health  grow  strong  to  achieve  the  impossible ;  even  age  and 
sickness,  bathed  in  his  splendour,  may  forget  awhile  their 
burdens  and  dream  of  other  days.  Truly  sunshine  is  a 
thrice  blessed  thing.  And  yet,  as  Ravenslee  tied  the 


A  Text,  a  Letter,  and  a  Song     125 

neckerchief  about  his  brawny  throat,  was  it  by  reason  of 
the  sun  alone  that  his  grey  eyes  were  so  bright  and  joyous 
and  that  he  whistled  so  soft  and  merrily? 

Having  brushed  his  hair  and  settled  his  vivid-hued 
neckerchief  to  his  liking,  he  turned,  and  stooping  over  his 
humble  bed,  slipped  a  hand  beneath  the  tumbled  pillow 
and  drew  thence  a  letter;  a  somewhat  crumpled  missive, 
this,  that  he  had  borne  about  with  him  all  the  preceding 
day  and  read  and  reread  at  intervals  even  as  he  proceeded 
to  do  now,  as,  standing  in  the  radiant  sunbeams,  he 
unfolded  a  sheet  of  very  ordinary  note  paper  and  slowly 
scanned  these  lines  written  in  a  bold,  flowing  hand: 

DEAR  MR.  GEOFFREY, 

I  find  I  must  be  away  from  home  all  this  week ;  will  you 
please  watch  over  my  dear  boy  for  me?  Then  I  shall 
work  with  a  glad  heart.  Am  I  wrong  in  asking  this  of  you, 
I  wonder?  Anyway,  I  am 

Your  grateful 

HERMIONJZ  C. 
P.S.    I  hear  you  are  a  peanut  man.    You!! 

Truly  the  sun  is  a  thrice-blessed  thing  —  and  yet  —  ! 
Having  read  this  over  with  the  greatest  attention,  taking 
preposterous  heed  to  every  dot  and  comma,  having  care 
fully  refolded  it,  slipped  it  into  the  envelope  and  hidden 
it  upon  his  person,  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  spotted  text 
upon  the  wall. 

"  You  're  right,"  quoth  he,  nodding,  "  an  altogether  wise 
precept  and  one  I  have  had  by  heart  ever  since  she  blessed 
my  sight.  I  must  introduce  you  to  her  at  the  earliest  — 
the  very  earliest  opportunity." 

Then  he  fell  to  whistling  softly  again,  and  opening  the 
door,  stepped  out  into  the  bright  little  sitting  room. 
Early  though  it  was,  Mrs.  Trapes  was  already  astir  in  her 
kitchen,  and  since  sunshine  is  indubitably  a  worker  of 
wonders,  Mrs.  Trapes  was  singing,  rather  harshly  to  be 
sure,  yet  singing  nevertheless,  and  this  was  her  song: 


126          The  Definite  Object 

"Said  the  young  Obadiah  to  the  old  Obadiah, 

Obadiah,  Obadiah,  I  am  dry. 
Said  the  old  Obadiah  to  the  young  Obadiah, 

Obadiah,  Obadiah,  so  am  I. 
Said  the  young  —  " 

The  song  ended  abruptly  as,  opening  the  door,  she  be 
held  her  lodger. 

"  Lordy  Lord,  Mr.  Geoffrey,"  she  exclaimed  a  little  re 
proachfully,  "  whatever  are  you  a-doin'  of,  up  an*  dressed 
an'  not  half-past  five  yet  ?  " 

"  Enjoying  the  morning,  Mrs.  Trapes,  and  yearning  for 
my  breakfast." 

"  Ah,  that 's  just  like  a  man ;  they  're  almighty  good 
yearners  till  they  get  what  they  yearns  for  —  then  they 
yearns  for  somethin'  else  —  immediate !  " 

"  Well,  but  I  suppose  women  yearn  too,  sometimes, 
don't  they?" 

"  Not  they ;  women  can  only  hope  an'  sigh  an'  languish 
an'  break  their  'earts  in  silence,  poor  dears." 

"What  for?" 

"  Would  a  couple  o'  fresh  eggs  an'  a  lovely  ham  rasher 
soot  ye?  "  enquired  Mrs.  Trapes. 

"  They  will  suit." 

"  Then  I  '11  go  and  fry  'em !  " 

"  And  I  '11  come  and  look  on,  if  I  may,"  said  he,  and 
followed  her  into  her  neat  kitchen. 

"  And  how,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  as  she  prepared  to  make 
the  coffee,  "  how  's  the  peanut  trade,  Mr.  Geoffrey?  " 

"  Flourishing,  thanks." 

"  The  idea  of  you  a-sellin'  peanuts !  " 

"  Well,  I  've  only  been  guilty  of  it  four  days  so  far, 
Mrs.  Trapes." 

"  Anyway,  you  've  disgusted  Hermy !  " 

"  Ah,  so  you  told  her,  did  you?  " 

"  O'  course  I  did !  " 

"  And  what  did  she  say?  " 

"  Laughed  at  first." 

"  She  has  a  beautiful  laugh !  "  said  Ravenslee  musingly. 


A  Text,  a  Letter,  and  a  Song     127 

"  An'  then  she  got  thoughtful  —  " 

"  She  's  loveliest  when  she  's  thoughtful,  I  think,"  said 
Ravenslee. 

"  An'  then  she  got  mad  at  you  an'  frowned  —  " 

"  She  's  very  handsome  when  she  frowns !  "  said  Ra 
venslee. 

"  Oh,  shucks !  "  said  his  landlady,  slapping  the  ham 
rasher  into  the  pan. 

"  And  she  was  very  angry,  was  she  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  so  !  "  snorted  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  stamped  her 
foot  an'  got  red  in  the  face  —  " 

"  I  love  to  see  her  flush !  "  said  Ravenslee  musingly 
again. 

"  Said  she  wondered  at  you,  she  did !  Said  you  was  a 
man  without  any  pride  or  ambition  —  an'  that 's  what  I 
say  too  —  peanuts !  " 

"  They  're  very  wholesome !  "  he  murmured. 

"  Sellin'  peanuts  ain't  a  man's  job,  no  more  than  grind 
ing  a  organ  is." 

"  There  's  money  in  peanuts  !  " 

"  Money ! "  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  wriggling  her  elbow 
joints.  "  How  much  did  you  make  yesterday  —  come?  " 

"  Fifty  cents." 

"Fifty  cents!  "  she  almost  screamed,  "  is  that  all?  " 

"  No  —  pardon  me !  There  were  three  pimply  youths 
on  Forty-second  Street  —  they  brought  it  up  to  seventy- 
five." 

"  Only  seventy-five  cents  ?  But  you  sold  out  your  stock ; 
Tony  told  me  you  did." 

"  Oh,  yes,  trade  was  very  brisk  yesterday." 

"And  you  sold  everything  for  seventy-five  cents?" 

"  Not  exactly,  Mrs.  Trapes.  You  see,  the  majority  of 
customers  on  my  beat  are  very  —  er  —  small,  and  their 
pecuniary  capabilities  necessarily  somewhat  —  shall  we 
say  restricted?  Consequently,  I  have  adopted  the  —  er  — 
deferred  payment  system." 

"  Land  sakes !  "  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  staring,  "  d'  ye  mean 
ter  say  —  " 


128          The  Definite  Object 

"  That  my  method  of  business  is  strictly  —  credit." 

"  Now  look-a-here,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  I  'm  talkin'  serious 
an'  don't  want  none  o'  your  jokes  or  jollying." 

"  Solemn  as  an  owl,  Mrs.  Trapes !  " 

"  Well,  then,  how  d'  you  suppose  you  can  keep  a  wife 
and  children,  maybe,  by  selling  peanuts  that  way  or  any 
way?" 

"  Oh,  when  J  marry  I  shall  probably  turn  my  —  atten 
tion  to  —  er  —  other  things,  Mrs.  Trapes." 

"What  things?" 

"  Well  —  to  my  wife,  in  the  first  place." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  you  make  me  tired !  " 

"  Alas,  Mrs.  Trapes,  I  frequently  grow  tired  of  myself." 

Mrs.  Trapes  turned  away  to  give  her  attention  to  the 
ham. 

"  Did  ye  see  that  b'y  Arthur  yesterday  ?  "  she  enquired 
presently  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Yes." 

"  How  's  he  like  his  noo  job?  " 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  that  he  seems  —  er  —  fired  with  a 
passion  for  it." 

"  Office  work,  ain't  it?  " 

"  I  believe  it  is." 

"  Well,  you  mark  my  words,  that  b'y  won't  keep  it  a 
week." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Ravenslee,  "  he  seemed  quite 
content." 

"  You  took  him  to  the  theayter  las'  night,  did  n't  you? 
Wastin'  your  good  money,  eh?  " 

"  Not  very  much,  Mrs.  Trapes,"  said  her  lodger  humbly. 

Mrs.  Trapes  sniffed.  "  Anyway,  it'  s  a  good  thing  you 
had  him  safe  out  o'  the  way,  as  it  happens." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  that  loafer  M'Ginnis  was  hanging  around  for 
him  all  the  evenin'.  Even  had  the  dratted  imperence  to 
come  in  here  an'  ask  me  where  he  was." 

"  And  what  did  you  tell  him?  " 

"  Tell  him  ?  "  she  repeated.    "  What  did  I  not  tell  him !  " 


A  Text,  a  Letter,  and  a  Song     129 

Her  voice  was  gentle,  but  what  words  could  convey  all  the 
quivering  ferocity  of  her  elbows !  "  Mr.  Geoffrey,  I  told 
Bud  M'Ginnis  just  exactly  what  kind  o'  a  beast  Bud 
M'Ginnis  is.  I  told  Bud  M'Ginnis  where  Bud  M'Ginnis 
come  from  an'  where  Bud  M'Ginnis  would  go  to.  I  told 
Bud  M'Ginnis  the  character  of  his  mother  an'  father,  very 
plain  an'  p'inted." 

"  And  what  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  say !  Mr.  Geoffrey,  I  did  n't  give  him  a  chance 
to  utter  a  single  word,  of  course.  An'  when  I  'd  said  all 
there  was  to  say,  I  picked  up  my  heaviest  flatiron,  as  hap 
pened  to  be  handy,  an'  ordered  him  out;  and  Mr.  Geof 
frey,  Bud  M'Ginnis  —  went !  " 

"  Under  the  circumstances,"  said  Ravenslee,  "  I  'm  not 
surprised  that  he  did." 

"  Ah,  but  he  '11  come  back  again,  Mr.  Geoffrey ;  he  '11 
find  Arthur  alone  next  time,  an'  Arthur  '11  go  along  with 
him,  and  then  —  good  night !  The  b'y  '11  get  drunk  an' 
lose  his  job  like  he  did  last  time." 

"  Why,  then,  he  must  n't  find  Arthur  alone." 

"  And  who  's  t'  stop  him?  " 

U   T   » 

"  Mr.  Geoffrey,  you  're  big  an'  strong,  but  M'Ginnis  is 
stronger  —  and  yet  —  "  Mrs.  Trapes  ran  a  speculative 
eye  over  Ravenslee's  lounging  form.  "  H'm !  "  said  she 
musingly,  "  but  even  if  you  did  happen  to  lick  him,  what 
about  th'  gang?  " 

"Echo,  Mrs.  Trapes,  promptly  answers,  'what'?" 

"  Well,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  I  can  tell  ye  there  's  been  more  'n 
one  poor  feller  killed  around  here  to  my  knowing  —  yes, 
sir!" 

"But  the  police?" 

"  Perlice !  "  snorted  Mrs.  Trapes.  "  M'Ginnis  an'  his 
father  have  a  big  pull  with  Tammany,  an'  Tammany  is  the 
perlice.  Anyways,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  don't  you  go  having  no 
trouble  with  Bud  M'Ginnis;  leave  him  to  some  one  as  is 
as  much  a  brute-beast  as  he  is." 

"  But  then  —  what  of  Spike?  " 


130          The  Definite  Object 

"  Oh,  drat  him !  If  Arthur  ain't  got  the  horse  sense  to 
know  who  's  his  worst  enemy,  he  ain't  worth  a  clean  man 
riskin'  his  life  over  —  for  it  would  be  your  life  you  'd 
risk,  Mr.  Geoffrey  —  mark  my  words !  " 

"  Mrs.  Trapes,  your  anxiety  on  my  account  flatters 
me,  also  I  'm  glad  to  know  you  think  me  a  clean  man.  But 
all  men  must  take  risks  —  some  for  money,  some  for 
honour,  and  some  for  the  pure  love  of  it.  Personally,  I 
rather  like  a  little  risk  —  just  a  suspicion,  if  it 's  for  some 
thing  worth  while." 

"  Mr.  Geoffrey,  what  are  you  gettin'  at  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  would  remind  you  that  Spike  has  —  a  sister !  " 

"  Ah !  "  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  and  her  lined  face  took  on 
a  sudden  anxious  expression. 

"  Therefore,  I  've  been  contemplating  -r—  er  —  tackling 
Mr.  M'Ginnis  —  at  a  proper  and  auspicious  time,  of 
course." 

"  An'  what  o'  the  gang?  " 

"  Oh,  drat  the  gang,  Mrs.  Trapes." 

"  But  you  don't  mean  as  you  'd  fight  M'Ginnis  ?  " 

"  Well  —  er  —  the  thought  has  occurred  to  me,  Mrs. 
Trapes,  though  I  'm  quite  undecided  on  the  matter,  and 
—  er  —  I  believe  my  breakfast  is  burning !  " 

"  My  land !  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Trapes,  turning  to  snatch 
the  pan  from  the  stove,  "  I  'm  afraid  the  fire  's  ketched  it 
a  bit,  Mr.  Geoffrey  —  " 

"  No  matter." 

"  An'  now  there  's  the  coffee  b'ilin'  over !  " 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  said  Ravenslee,  rising. 

"  Anyway,  your  breakfast 's  ready,  so  come  an'  eat 
it  while  it 's  good  an'  hot." 

"  On  condition  that  you  eat  with  me." 

"  What,  eat  wi'  you,  Mr.  Geoffrey  —  in  my  best  par 
lour  —  an'  me  in  me  workin'  clo'es  ?  " 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure  —  not  to  be  thought  of,  Mrs.  Trapes ; 
then  we  '11  breakfast  here  in  the  kitchen." 

"Would  ye  mind?" 

"  Should  love  it." 


A  Text,  a  Letter,  and  a  Song     131 

So  down  they  sat  together,  and  Ravenslee  vowed  the  ham 
was  all  ham  should  be  and  the  eggs  beyond  praise.  And 
when  his  hunger  was  somewhat  appeased,  Mrs.  Trapes 
leaned  her  bony  elbows  on  the  table  and  questioned  him. 

"  You  ain't  ever  spoke  to  Hermy,  have  you,  Mr. 
Geoffrey?  " 

"  Very  often,  lately." 

"  I  mean  —  you  ain't  opened  your  'eart  to  her  —  matri 
monially,  have  you?  " 

"  No !  " 

"  Why,  then,  I  '11  tell  you  what  —  there  's  been  times 
when  I  Ve  been  afraid  that  for  the  sake  o'  that  b'y  she  'd 
sacrifice  herself  to  Bud  M'Ginnis." 

"  No,  she  would  never  do  that,  Mrs.  Trapes." 

"  Oh,  but  she  would." 

"  But,  you  see,  she  could  n't !  " 

"And  why  not?" 

"  Oh,  well,  because  —  er  —  I  should  kill  him  first." 

"  Land  sakes,  Mr.  Geoffrey !  "  and  Mrs.  Trapes  actually 
blenched  before  the  glare  in  his  eyes  that  was  so  strangely 
at  odds  with  his  soft,  lazy  tones. 

"  And  that  ends  it !  "  he  nodded.  "  Mrs.  Trapes,  I  've 
made  up  my  mind !  " 

"What  about?" 

"  Mr.  M'Ginnis.     I  '11  begin  to-day." 

"Begin  what?" 

"  To  prepare  myself  to  bestow  on  him  the  thrashing 
of  his  life !  "  So  saying,  RaveHslee  stretched  lazily  and 
finally  got  up.  "  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Trapes !  "  said  he. 

"  But  where  are  ye  going?  "  she  demanded. 

"  To  my  neanuts,"  he  answered  gravely.  "  *  Man  is 
born  to  labour,'  you  know." 

"  But  it 's  early  yet." 

"  But  I  have  much  to  do  —  and  she  laughed  at  me  for 
being  a  peanut  man,  did  she,  Mrs.  Trapes  —  she  frowned 
and  flushed  and  stamped  her  pretty  foot  at  me,  did  she?  " 

"  She  did  so,  Mr.  Geoffrey !  " 

"  I  'm  glad !  "  he  answered.     "  Yes,  I  'm  very  glad  she 


132          The  Definite  Object 

frowned  and  stamped  her  foot  at  me.  By  the  way,  I  like 
that  text  in  my  bedroom." 

"  Text?  "  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  staring. 

"  *  Love  one  another,'  "  he  nodded.  "  It  is  a  very  — 
very  beautiful  sentiment  —  sometimes.  Anyway,  I  'm 
glad  she  frowned  and  stamped  at  me,  Mrs.  Trapes ;  you 
can  tell  her  I  said  so  if  you  happen  to  think  of  it  when 
she  comes  home."  And  Ravenslee  smiled,  and  turning 
away,  was  gone. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  staring  at  the  closed  door, 
"  of  all  the  —  well,  well !  "  Then  she  sighed,  shook  her 
head,  and  fell  to  washing  up  the  breakfast  things. 


CHAPTER    XV 

WHICH  INTRODUCES  JOE  AND  THE    OLD    UN 

THE  clocks  were  striking  nine  as,  according  to  his  custom 
of  late,  Geoffrey  Ravenslee  trundled  his  barrow  blithely 
along  Thirty-eighth  Street,  halting  now  and  then  at  the 
shrill,  imperious  summons  of  some  small  customer,  or  by 
reason  of  the  congestion  of  early  traffic,  or  to  swear  whole 
heartedly  and  be  sworn  at  by  some  indignant  Jehu.  At 
length  he  came  to  Eleventh  Avenue  and  to  a  certain  quar 
ter  where  the  whistle  of  a  peanut  barrow  was  seldom  heard, 
and  peanuts  were  a  luxury. 

And  here,  in  a  dismal,  small  street  hard  by  the  river, 
behold  Ravenslee  halt  his  gaily  painted  pushcart,  whereat 
a  shrill  clamour  arises  that  swells  upon  the  air,  a  joyous 
babel ;  and  forth  from  small  and  dismal  homes,  from  nar 
row  courts  and  the  purlieus  adjacent,  his  customers  ap 
pear.  They  race,  they  gambol,  they  run  and  toddle,  for 
these  customers  are  very  small  and  tender  and  grimy,  but 
each  small  face  is  alight  with  joyous  welcome,  and  they 
hail  him  with  rapturous  acclaim.  Even  the  few  tired- 
looking  mothers,  peeping  from  windows  or  glancing  from 
doorways,  smile  and  nod  and  forget  awhile  their  weari 
ness  in  the  children's  delight,  as  Ravenslee,  the  battered 
hat  cocked  at  knowing  angle,  proceeds  to  "  business." 
Shrill  voices  supplicate  him,  little  feet  patter  close  around 
him,  small  hands,  eagerly  outstretched,  appeal  to  him. 
Anon  rise  shrieks  and  infantile  Growings  of  delight  as  each 
small  hand  is  drawn  back  grasping  a  plump  paper  bag  — 
shrieks  and  Growings  that  languish  and  die  away,  one  by 
one,  since  no  human  child  may  shriek  properly  and  chew 
peanuts  at  one  and  the  same  time.  And  in  a  while,  his 


134          The  Definite  Object 

stock  greatly  diminished,  Ravenslee  trundles  off  and  leaves 
behind  him  women  who  smile  still  and  small  boys  and  girls 
who  munch  in  a  rapturous  silence. 

On  he  went,  his  oven  whistling  soft  and  shrill,  his  long 
legs  striding  between  the  shafts,  until,  reaching  a  certain 
bleak  corner,  he  halted  again,  though  to  be  sure  there  were 
few  people  hereabouts  and  no  children.  But  upon  the 
opposite  corner  was  a  saloon,  with  a  large  annex  and  many 
outbuildings  behind,  backing  upon  the  river,  and  Ravens- 
lee,  lounging  on  the  handles  of  his  barrow,  examined  this 
unlovely  building  with  keen  eye  from  beneath  his  hat  brim, 
for  above  the  swing  doors  appeared  the  words: 

O'ROURKE'S    SALOON 

He  was  in  the  act  of  lighting  his  pipe  when  the  doors  of 
the  saloon  were  swung  open,  and  three  men  came  out,  in 
one  of  whom  he  recognised  the  tall,  powerful  figure  and 
broad  shoulders  of  Bud  M'Ginnis ;  his  companions  were 
remarkable,  but  in  very  opposite  ways,  the  one  being 
slender  and  youthful  and  very  smartly  dressed,  with  a 
face  which,  despite  its  seeming  youth,  was  strangely  hag 
gard  and  of  an  unhealthy  pallor,  while  the  other  was 
plethoric,  red-faced  and  middle-aged,  a  man  hoarse  of 
voice  and  roughly  clad,  and  Ravenslee  noticed  that  this 
fellow  lacked  the  upper  half  of  one  ear. 

"  Saturday  night,  mind ! "  said  M'Ginnis,  loud  and 
authoritative. 

"  But  say,  Bud,"  demanded  the  smartly  dressed  youth, 
"  what 's  coming  to  us  on  that  last  deal  ?  " 

"  Nix  —  that 's  what  you  get,  Soapy !  "  The  youth's 
pale  cheek  grew  livid. 

"  So  you  've  got  the  deck  stacked  against  us,  eh,  Bud  ?  " 
said  he. 

"  I  got  a  close  mouth,  Soapy.  I  guess  you  don't  want 
me  t'  open  it  very  wide  —  now  or  any  other  old  time. 
Saturday  night,  mind !  "  and  nodding,  M'Ginnis  turned 
away.  The  youth  looked  after  him  with  venomous  eyes, 


Joe  and  the  Old  Un  135 

and  his  right  hand  made  a  sinister  movement  toward  his 
hip  pocket. 

"  Aw  —  quit  it ;  are  ye  crazy  ?  "  grunted  his  companion. 
"  Bud  's  got  us  cinched." 

"  Got  us  —  hell!  "  snarled  the  youth.  "  Bud  's  askin' 
for  it,  an'  some  day  he  's  goin'  t'  get  it  —  good !  " 

Toward  afternoon,  Ravenslee  was  trundling  light- 
heartedly  eastward,  his  barrow  emptied  to  the  last  peanut. 
Having  reached  Fifth  Avenue,  he  paused  to  mop  his  per 
spiring  brow  when  a  long,  low  automobile,  powerfully  en- 
gined,  that  was  creeping  along  behind,  pulled  up  with  a 
sudden  jerk,  and  its  driver,  whose  immense  shoulders  were 
clad  in  a  very  smart  livery,  pushed  up  the  peak  of  his 
smart  cap  to  run  his  fingers  through  his  close-cropped 
hair,  while  his  mild  blue  eyes  grew  very  wide  and  round. 

"  Crikey !  "  said  he  at  last.  "  Is  that  you,  sir,  or  ain't 
it?  " 

"  How  much  ?  "  demanded  Ravenslee  gruffly. 

"  Crumbs  !  "  said  the  chauffeur.  "  Sir,  if  you  —  ain't 
you,  all  I  say  is  —  I  ain't  me !  " 

"  Aw  —  what 's  bitin'  ye,  bo?  "  growled  Ravenslee. 

"  Well,  if  this  ain't  the  rummest  go,  I  'm  a  perisher !  " 

"  Say,  now,  crank  up  d'  machine  an'  beat  it  while  d' 
goin'  's  good.  How  's  that,  Joe?  " 

"  Lord,  Mr.  Ravenslee  —  so  you  are  my  guv'nor,  and 
blow  me  tight  —  shoving  a  barrer !  I  knowed  it  was  you, 
sir;  leastways  I  knowed  your  legs  an'  the  set  o'  them 
shoulders,  but  —  with  a  barrer !  Excuse  me,  sir,  but  the 
idea  o'  you  pushing  a  perishing  peanut  barrer  so  gay  an' 
'appy-'earted  —  well,  all  I  can  say  is  love-a-duck !  " 

"  Well  now,  cut  along,  Joe,  and  get  ready.  I  mean  to 
put  in  some  real  hard  work  with  you  this  afternoon." 

"  Right-o,  sir !  "  nodded  Joe  eagerly.  "  Lord,  but 
we  've  missed  you  terrible  —  the  Old  Un  an'  me." 

"  Glad  of  it,  Joe !  Tell  Patterson  to  have  my  bath  ready 
when  we  've  finished.  Off  with  you  —  drive  in  the  Fifth 
Avenue  entrance." 

Joe  nodded,  and  the  big  car  turned  and  crept  silently 


136          The  Definite  Object 

away,  while  Ravenslee,  trundling  onward,  turned  off  to 
the  left  and  so  into  a  very  large,  exceedingly  neat  garage 
where  stood  five  or  six  automobiles  of  various  patterns  in 
one  of  which,  a  luxurious  limousine,  an  old,  old  man  snored 
blissfully.  At  the  rumble  of  the  barrow,  however,  this 
ancient  being  choked  upon  a  snore,  coughed,  swore  plain 
tively,  and  finally  sat  up.  Perceiving  Ravenslee,  he 
blinked,  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  stepping  from  the  car  very 
nimbly  despite  his  years,  faced  the  intruder  with  a  fero 
cious  scowl. 

He  was  indeed  a  very  ancient  man,  though  very  nattily 
dressed  from  spotless  collar  to  shiny  patent  leather  shoes, 
a  small,  dandified,  bright-eyed  man  whose  broken  nose  and 
battered  features  bore  eloquent  testimony  to  long  and 
hard  usage. 

"  'Ook  it!  "  he  croaked,  with  square  bony  jaw  fiercely 
outthrust.  "  We  don't  want  no  peanuts  'ere,  d'  j  'ear? 
'Op  off,  'ook  it  before  I  break  every  blessed  bone  in  yer 
bloomin'  body !  " 

"  What,  Old  Un,  don't  you  know  me,  either?  " 

"  Lumme !  "  exclaimed  the  little  old  man,  blinking  be 
neath  hoary  brows.  "  Ho,  lor'  lumme,  it 's  'im !  Blimy, 
it 's  the  Guv'nor  —  'ow  do,  Guv !  "  and  shooting  immacu 
late  cuffs  over  bony  wrists  he  extended  a  clawlike  hand. 

"How  are  you,  Old  Un?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  what  with  the  rheumatix  an'  a  stiff  j'int  or 
two  an'  a  touch  o'  lumbager,  not  to  mention  all  my  other 
ailments,  I  ain't  quite  s'  spry  as  I  was !  " 

"  But  you  look  very  well !  " 

"  That 's  where  your  heyes  deceives  you,  Guv.  A  great 
sufferer  I  be,  though  patient  under  haffliction,  ho,  yus  — 
except  for  a  swear  now  an'  then  which  do  me  a  power  o' 
good  —  yus !  If  I  was  to  tell  you  all  the  woes  as  my  poor 
old  carkiss  is  hair  to,  you  could  write  a  book  on  'em  — 
a  big  'un.  I  got  everything  the  matter  wi'  me,  I  'ave, 
from  a  thick  ear  an'  broke  nose  as  I  took  in  Brummagem 
sixty  an'  five  years  ago  to  a  hactive  liver." 

"  A  what  ?  "  enquired  Ravenslee. 


Joe  and  the  Old  Un  137 

"  A  hactive  liver.  Lord,  Guv,  my  liver  gets  that  hac- 
tive  lately  as  I  can't  set  still  —  Joe  knows,  ax  Joe !  All 
as  I  ain't  got  o'  human  woes  is  toothache,  not  'avin'  no 
teeth  to  ache,  y'  see,  an'  them  s'  rotten  as  it  'ud  make 
yer  'eart  bleed.  An'  then  I  get  took  short  o'  breath  — 
look  at  me  now,  dang  it !  " 

"  Why,  then,  sit  down,  Old  Un,"  said  Ravenslee,  draw 
ing  up  a  somewhat  worn  armchair.  "  Joe  and  I  are  going 
at  it  hard  and  fast  this  afternoon,  and  I  want  you  to 
time  the  rounds."  And  he  proceeded  to  remove  his 
garments. 

"  Oh,  j'y!"  cried  the  Old  Un,  hugging  himself  in  bony 
arms.  "  Oh,  j'yful  words.  Ah,  but  you  peels  like  a  good 
un,  sir,"  he  croaked,  viewing  white  flesh  and  bulging 
muscle  with  knowing  old  eyes,  "  good  an'  long  in  the  arm 
an'  wide  slope  o'  shoulder.  You  might  ha'  done  well  in 
the  ring  if  you  'd  been  blessed  wi'  poverty  an'  I  'd  'ad 
the  'andling  of  ye  —  a  world's  unbeat  champion,  like  Joe. 
A  good  fighter  were  I  an'  a  wonnerful  trainer !  Ho,  yus,  I 
might  ha'  made  a  top-notcher  of  ye  if  you  'ad  n't  been 
cursed  wi'  money." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Ravenslee  thoughtfully,  "  I  suppose 
Joe  was  one  of  the  best  all-round  fighting  men  that  ever 
climbed  into  a  ring?  " 

"  Ah  —  that  'e  were !  Joe  were  better  'n  the  best  — 
only  don't  let  'im  'ear  me  say  so,  'e  'd  be  that  puffed  up 
—  Lord !  But  nobody  could  beat  Joe  —  black,  yaller  or 
white ;  they  all  tried  danged  'ard,  but  Joe  were  a  world- 
beater  —  y'  see,  I  trained  Joe !  An'  to-day  'e  's  as  good 
as  ever  'e  was.  Y'  see,  Joe  's  allus  lived  clean,  sir,  con 
sequent  Joe  's  sound,  wind  an'  limb.  Joe  could  go  back 
an'  beat  all  these  fancy  bruisers  and  stringy  young 
champs  to-day  —  if  'e  only  would  —  but  don't  let  'im  'ear 
me  say  so." 

"  You  're  fond  of  Joe,  Old  Un?  " 

"An'  why  for  not,  sir  —  s'  long  as  'e  don't  know  it? 
Did  n't  'e  look  arter  poor  old  me  when  'e  'ad  money,  an' 
when  'e  lost  everything,  did  n't  'e  look  arter  me  still? 


138          The  Definite  Object 

An'  now  'e  's  your  shuwer,  don'  'e  keep  a  roof  over  me 
poor  old  'ead  like  a  son  —  don't  'e  give  me  the  run  o'  your 
garridge  an'  let  me  watch  'im  spar  wi'  you  an'  your  gen 
tlemen  friends?  Ain't  'e  the  best  an'  truest-'earted  man 
as  ever  drawed  breath?  Ah,  a  king  o'  men  is  Joe,  in  the 
ring  an'  out,  sir  —  only  never  let  'im  'ear  me  say  so  — 
'e  'd  be  that  proud,  Lord !  there  'd  be  no  livin'  wi'  'im  — 
sh,  'ere  'e  be,  sir." 

Joe  had  laid  by  his  chauffeur's  garb  and  looked  even 
bigger  and  grimmer  in  flannels  and  sweater. 

"  Ho  you,  Joe,"  cried  the  old  man,  scowling,  "  did  ye 
bring  me  that  'bacca  ?  " 

"  S'posin'  I  did  n't?  "  demanded  Joe. 

"  Then  dang  ye  —  twice !  " 

"An5  s'posin'  I  did?" 

"  Then  —  give  it  'ere !  " 

"  An'  that 's  his  gratitood,  sir !  "  growled  Joe,  shaking 
his  head  and  giving  the  packet  into  the  old  man's  clutch 
ing  fingers.  "  A  unnat'ral  old  bag-o'-bones,  that 's  what 
'e  is,  sir !  " 

"  Bones  !  "  croaked  the  Old  Un  viciously.  "  Bag-o'- 
bones  am  I?  Yah  —  look  at  ye'self — pork,  that 's  what 
you  are,  all  run  to  pork  an'  blubber  an'  fat,  Joe,  me  pore 
lad  —  " 

"  Fat !  "  growled  Joe.  "  Y'  know  I  ain't  fat ;  y'  know 
I  'm  as  good  a  man  as  ever  I  was  —  look  at  that,  you  old 
sarpent !  "  And  he  smote  himself  with  mighty  fist  —  a 
blow  to  fell  an  ox.  "  Fat,  am  I?  " 

"  As  —  lard !  "  nodded  the  old  man,  filling  half  an  inch 
of  blackened  clay  pipe  with  trembling  fingers,  "  as  a 

'og-" 

"  Now  my  crumbs  —  "  began  Joe  fiercely. 

"  You  're  flabby  an*  soft,  me  pore  lad,"  grinned  the  old 
man.  "  Flabby  as  a  babby  an'  soft  as  a  woman  an'  fat 
as  a  —  " 

Joe  reached  out  very  suddenly,  and  picking  up  the  old 
man,  armchair  and  all,  shook  him  to  and  fro  until  he 
croaked  for  mercy. 


Joe  and  the  Old  Un  139 

"  Lor'  gorramighty !  "  he  panted,  as  Joe  set  him  down 
again. 

"  Fat,  am  I?  "  demanded  Joe,  scowling. 

"  Fat  as  a  'og  —  fat  as  forty  bloomin'  'ogs !  "  cried  the 
old  man  vindictively.  "  An'  what 's  more,  your  wind  's  all 
gone  —  you  could  n't  go  five  rounds  wi'  a  good  'un !  " 

"Couldn't  I?" 

"  No !  "  shrieked  the  Old  Un,  "  you  'd  be  'anging  on  an' 
blowing  like  a  grampus !  " 

"Should  I?" 

"  Ah  —  like  a  grampus !  " 

"  Right-o !  "  nodded  Joe,  turning  away,  "  no  j  am  for 
your  tea  to-night." 

"  Eh,  what  —  what,  would  ye  rob  a  pore  old  man  of 
'is  j  am,  Joe  —  a  pore  afflicted  old  cove  as  is  dependent 
on  ye  'and  an'  fut,  Joe  —  a  pore  old  gaffer  as  you  've 
just  shook  up  to  that  degree  as  'is  pore  old  liver  is  a-bob- 
bin'  about  in  'is  innards  like  a  jelly.  Joe,  ye  could  n't  be 
so  'eartless !  " 

"  Ah,  but  I  can !  "  nodded  Joe.  "  An'  if  ye  give  me  any 
more  lip,  it  '11  be  no  sugar  in  ye  tea  —  " 

"  No  sugar ! "  wailed  the  Old  Un,  then  clenching  a 
trembling  old  fist,  he  shook  it  in  Joe's  scowling  face. 
"  Then  dang  ye  —  three  times !  "  he  cried.  "  What 's  the 
old  song  say? 

'Dang  the  man  with  three  times  three 
Who  in  'is  'eathen  rage 
Can  'arm  a  'armless  man  like  me 
Who's  'ead  is  bowed  wi'  age!' 

An'  there  's  for  ye.     Now  listen  again  : 

'Some  men  is  this  an'  some  is  that, 
But  'ere's  a  truth  I  know: 
A  fightin'  cove  who  's  run  to  fat 
Is  bound  t'  puff  an'  blow!' 

An'  there  's  for  ye  again !  " 

Saying  which,  the  Old  Un  nodded  ferociously  and  pro 
ceeded  to  light  his  fragmentary  pipe.  During  this  col- 


140          The  Definite  Object 

loquy  Ravenslee  had  laid  by  his  shabby  clothes  and  now 
appeared  clad  and  shod  for  the  ring. 

"  Sir,"  said  Joe,  taking  a  set  of  gloves  from  a  locker, 
"  if  ybu  are  ready  to  box  a  round  or  so  —  " 

"  Why,  no,"  answered  Ravenslee,  "  I  don't  want  to  box 
to-day,  Joe." 

"  Eh?  "  said  Joe,  staring,  "  not?  " 

"  I  want  to  fight,  Joe." 

"To  —  fight,  sir?"  repeated  Joe. 

"  Fight?  "  cried  the  Old  Un  rapturously.  "  Oh,  music 
—  sweet  music  t'  me  old  ears  !  Fight  ?  Oh,  j  'y f ul  words ! 
What 's  the  old  song  say? 

'  'Appy  is  the  first  as  goes 
To  black  a  eye  or  punch  a  nose ! ' 

"Get  the  mufflers  on,  Joe;  get  'em  on  an'  don't  stand 
staring  like  a  fool !  " 

"  But,  sir,"  said  Joe,  his  mild  eyes  kindling,  "  d'  ye 
mean  as  you  want  —  the  real  thing?  " 

"  To-day,"  said  Ravenslee,  "  instead  of  boxing  a  round 
or  two  with  Joe  Madden,  my  chauffeur  and  mechanic,  I 
want  to  see  how  long  I  can  stand  up  to  Joe  Madden,  un 
defeated  champion  of  the  world." 

Joe's  lean  cheek  flushed  and  he  looked  Ravenslee  over 
with  eyes  of  yearning;  noted  the  thin  flanks  and  slender 
legs  that  showed  speed,  the  breadth  of  shoulder  and  long 
arms  that  spoke  strength,  and  the  deep,  arched  chest  that 
showed  endurance;  Joe  looked  and  sighed  and  shook  his 
head. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  I  honour  and  respect  you  to  that  de 
gree  as  it  would  be  a  joy  to  fight  such  a  man  as  you  and 
a  rare  privilege  t'  knock  you  down  —  but,  sir,  if  I  was 
to  knock  ye  down  —  " 

"  You  'd  earn  a  five-dollar  bill." 

"  Five  dollars  —  for  knockin'  you  down,  sir?  " 

"  Every  time !  "  nodded  Ravenslee. 

"  But  Lord,  sir  —  " 

"  Shut  up,  Joe,  shut  up,"  snarled  the  Old  Un,  hopping 


Joe  and  the  Old  Un          141 

out  of  the  armchair.  "  Don't  gape  like  a  perishin'  fish ; 
come  on  up-stairs  an'  knock  the  Guv'nor  down  like  'e  tells 
ye  —  an'  'arves  on  the  money,  mind ;  it  was  me  as  taught 
ye  all  you  know  or  ever  will,  so  'arves  on  the  money,  Joe, 
'arves  on  the  money.  Come  on,  Joe  —  d' j  'ear?  " 

"  Crumbs  !  "  said  Joe. 

"  Look  at  'im,  Guv  —  look  at  'im !  "  shrieked  the  old 
man,  dancing  to  and  fro  in  his  impatience,  "  'ere  's  a 
chance  for  'im  to  earn  a  pore  old  cove  a  bit  o'  'bacca 
money,  an',  what 's  better  still,  t'  show  a  pore  old  fightin' 
man  a  bit  o'  real  sport  —  an'  there  'e  stands,  staring  like 
a  perishing  pork  pig!  Blimy,  Guv,  get  behind  an'  'elp 
me  to  shove  'im  up-stairs." 

"  But,  crikey,  sir !  "  said  Joe,  "  five  dollars  every  time 
j >» 

"  Yus,  yus,  you  bloomin'  hadjective  —  two  dollars  fifty 
for  each  of  us !  'Urry  up,  oh,  'urry  up  afore  'e  changes 
'is  mind  an'  begins  to  'edge." 

So  Joe  follows  his  "  Guv'nor  "  and  the  Old  Un  up  a 
flight  of  stairs  and  into  a  large  chamber  fitted  as  a  gym 
nasium,  where  are  four  roped  and  padded  posts  socketed 
into  the  floor ;  close  by  is  a  high-backed  armchair  in  which 
the  Old  Un  seats  himself  with  an  air  of  heavy  portent. 

But  when  Joe  would  have  ducked  under  the  ropes,  the 
Old  Un  stayed  him  with  an  imperious  gesture,  and, 
clambering  into  the  ring,  advanced  to  the  centre  and 
bowed  gravely  as  if  to  a  countless  multitude. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  piped  in  his  shrill  old  voice,  "  I  take 
pleasure  to  introduce  Joe  Madden,  undefeated  'eavyweight 
champion  o'  the  world,  an'  the  Guv  —  both  members  of 
this  club  an'  both  trained  by  me,  Jack  Bowser,  once  light 
weight  champion  of  England  an'  hall  the  Americas.  Gen 
tlemen,  it  will  be  a  fight  to  a  finish  —  Markis  o'  Queens- 
berry  rules.  Gentlemen  —  I  thank  ye."  Having  said 
which,  the  Old  Un  bowed  again,  gravely  stepped  from  the 
ring,  and  ensconcing  himself  in  the  armchair,  drew  out 
a  large  and  highly  ornate  watch,  while  Ravenslee  and  Joe 
vaulted  over  the  ropes. 


142  The  Definite  Object 

Behold  them  facing  each  other,  the  brown-skinned  fight 
ing  man  wise  in  ringcraft  and  champion  of  a  hundred 
fights,  and  the  white-fleshed  athlete,  each  alike  clean  and 
bright  of  eye,  light-poised  of  foot,  quivering  for  swift 
action,  while  the  Old  Un  looks  needfully  from  one  to  the 
other,  watch  in  one  bony  hand,  the  other  upraised. 

"  Get  ready !  "  he  croaked.     "  Go !  " 

Comes  immediately  a  quick,  light  tread  of  rubber-soled 
feet  and  the  flash  of  white  arms  as  they  circle  about  and 
about,  feinting,  watchful  and  wary.  Twice  Ravenslee's 
fist  shoots  out  and  twice  is  blocked  by  Joe's  open  glove, 
and  once  he  ducks  a  vicious  swmg  and  lands  a  half-arm 
jolt  that  makes  Joe  grin  and  stagger,  whereat  the  Old  Un, 
standing  upon  his  chair,  hugs  himself  in  an  ecstasy,  and 
forgetful  of  such  small  matters  as  five-dollar  bills,  urges, 
prays,  beseeches,  and  implores  the  Guv  to  "  wallop  the 
blighter  on  the  p'int,  to  stab  'im  on  the  mark,  and  to  jolt 
'im  in  the  kidney-pit." 

"  Go  it,  Guv !  "  he  shrieked,  "  go  it !  In  an'  out  again, 
that 's  it  —  Gorramighty,  I  never  see  sich  speed.  Oh, 
keep  at  'im,  Guv  —  make  'im  cover  up  —  sock  it  into  'im, 
Guv !  Ho,  lumme,  what  footwork  —  you  're  as  quick  as 
lightweights  —  oh,  'appy,  'appy  day !  Go  to  it,  both  on 
ye!" 

And  "  to  it  "  they  went,  with  jabs  and  jolts,  hooks  and 
swings,  with  cunning  feints  and  lightning  counters  until 
the  place  echoed  and  reechoed  to  the  swift  tramp  of  feet 
and  dull  thudding  of  blows,  while  the  Old  Un,  hugging 
himself  in  long,  bony  arms,  chuckled  and  choked  and 
rocked  himself  to  and  fro  in  an  ecstasy;  moreover,  when 
Joe,  uttering  a  grunt,  reeled  back  against  the  ropes,  the 
Old  Un  must  needs  shriek  and  dance  and  crow  with  delight 
until,  bethinking  him  of  his  duty,  he  checked  his  excite 
ment,  seated  himself  in  the  armchair  again,  and  announced : 
"  Time !  End  o'  round  one." 

And  it  is  to  be  noticed  that  as  they  sit  down  to  take  their 
two  minutes'  rest,  neither  Ravenslee  nor  Joe,  for  all  their 
exertions,  seem  unduly  distressed  in  their  breathing. 


Joe  and  the  Old  Un  143 

"  Sir,"  says  Joe,  looking  his  pupil  over,  "  you  're  un 
common  quick  on  your  pins ;  never  knowed  a  quicker  — 
did  you,  Old  Un?" 

"  No,  me  lad  —  never  in  all  me  days  !  " 

"  An'  you  've  sure-ly  got  a  punch,  sir.  Ain't  'e,  Old 
Un?  " 

"  Like  a  perishin'  triphammer !  "  nodded  the  Old  Un. 
"  Likewise,  sir,  you  've  a  wonderful  judgment  o'  distance 

—  but,  sir,  you  need  experience !  " 
"  That 's  what  I  'm  after,  Joe." 

"  And  you  take  too  many  chances ;  you  ain't  larned 
caution  yet." 

"  That  you  must  teach  me,  Joe." 

"  Which  I  surely  will,  sir.  In  the  next  round,  subject 
to  no  objection,  I  propose  to  knock  ye  down,  sir." 

"  Which  means  two  dollars  fifty  for  each  on  us,  Joe  — 
mind  that,"  added  the  Old  Un. 

"  So  fight  more  cautious,  sir,  do,"  pleaded  Joe,  "  and 

—  look  out." 

"  Time !  "  croaked  the  Old  Un.  "  Round  two !  And 
Guv,  look  out  for  yer  p'int,  cover  yer  mark,  an'  keep  a 
heye  on  yer  kidney-pit !  " 

Once  again  they  faced  each  other,  but  this  time  it  was 
Joe  who  circled  quick  and  catlike,  massive  shoulders 
bowed,  knees  bent,  craggy  chin  grim  and  firm-set,  but 
blue  eyes  serene  and  mild  as  ever.  A  moment's  silent 
sparring,  a  quick  tread  of  feet,  and  Joe  feints  Ravenslee 
into  an  opening,  swings  for  his  chin,  misses  by  an  inch, 
and  ducking  a  vicious  counter,  drives  home  a  smashing 
body-blow  and,  staggering  weakly,  Ravenslee  goes  down 
full  length. 

"  Shook  ye  up  a  bit,  sir?  "  enquired  Joe,  running  up 
with  hands  outstretched,  "  take  a  rest,  now  do,  sir." 

"  No,  no,"  answered  Ravenslee,  springing  to  his  feet, 
"  the  Old  Un  has  n't  called  *  Time  '  yet." 

"  Not  me !  "  piped  the  old  man,  "  not  bloomin'  likely ! 
Go  to  it,  both  on  ye  —  mind,  that 's  two-fifty  for  me, 
Joe!" 


144          The  Definite  Object 

What  need  is  there  to  tell  the  numerous  feints,  the 
lightning  shifts,  the  different  tricks  of  in-fighting  and  all 
the  cunning  strategy  and  ringcraft  that  Joe  brought  to 
bear  and  carefully  explained  between  rounds?  Suffice  it 
that  at  the  end  of  a  certain  fierce  "  mix  up  ",  as  Ravenslee 
sat  outstretched  and  panting,  the  white  flesh  of  arms  and 
broad  chest  discovered  many  livid  marks  and  patches  that 
told  their  tale;  also  one  elbow  was  grazed  and  bleeding, 
and  one  knee  showed  signs  of  contact  with  the  floor. 

"  Joe,"  said  he,  when  his  wind  was  somewhat  recovered, 
"  that  makes  it  thirty  dollars  I  owe  you,  I  think?  " 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  Joe,  who  also  showed  some  slight  signs 
of  wear,  but  whose  breathing  was  soft  and  regular,  "  why, 
sir,  you  could  n't  call  that  last  one  a  real  knockdown  —  " 

"  You  'm  a  liar,  Joe,  a  liar ! "  cried  the  Old  Un. 
"  Blimy,  Guv,  Joe  's  a-tellin'  you  crackers,  s'  help  me  — 
your  'ands  touched  the  floor,  did  n't  they  ?  " 

"  And  my  knees,  too,"  nodded  Ravenslee,  "  also  my 
elbow  —  no,  that  was  last  time  or  the  time  before." 

"  Well,  then,  tell  this  lying  Joe-lad  o'  mine  as  'e  surely 
did  knock  ye  down.  Lord,  Joe !  "  cried  the  Old  Un,  wax 
ing  pathetic,  "  'ow  can  ye  go  takin'  money  from  a  pore 
old  cove  like  I  be.  Joe,  I  blushes  for  ye  —  an'  —  Time, 
Time  there,  both  on  ye !  " 

"  But  we  don't  want  any  more,  do  we,  sir  ?  "  enquired 
Joe. 

"  Why,  yes,  I  think  I  can  go  another  round  or  so." 

"  There  y'  are,  Joe,  the  Guv  's  surely  a  game  cove.  So 
get  at  it,  me  lad,  an'  try  an'  knock  it  up  to  fifty  dollars 
—  'arves,  Joe,  mind !  " 

"  But,  sir,"  began  Joe,  eyeing  the  livid  blotches  on 
Ravenslee's  white  skin,  "  don't  ye  think  —  " 

"Time  —  oh,  Time,  Time!"  shrieked  the  Old  Un. 
Whereupon  Ravenslee  sprang  to  the  centre  of  the  ring, 
and  once  again  the  air  resounded  with  tramp  of  feet  and 
pant  of  breath.  Twice  Ravenslee  staggers  beneath  Joe's 
mighty  left,  but  watchful  ever  and  having  learned  much, 
Ravenslee  keeps  away,  biding  his  time  —  ducks  a  swing, 


Joe  and  the  Old  Un          145 

sidesteps  a  drive,  and  blocking  a  vicious  hook  —  smacks 
home  his  long  left  to  Joe's  ribs,  rocks  him  with  a  swing 
ing  uppercut,  drives  in  a  lightning  left  and  right,  and  Joe 
goes  down  with  a  crash. 

Even  while  the  Old  Un  stared  in  wide-eyed,  gaping 
amaze,  Joe  was  on  his  feet  again,  serene  and  calm  as  ever, 
only  his  great  chest  laboured  somewhat,  but  Ravenslee 
shook  his  head. 

"  I  guess  that  '11  be  about  enough,  Joe,"  said  he. 

"  Guv,"  cried  the  Old  Un,  seizing  Ravenslee's  right 
hand,  boxing  glove  and  all,  and  shaking  it  to  and  fro, 
"  you  're  a  credit  to  us,  you  do  us  bloomin'  proud  —  strike 
me  pink,  ye  do !  'Ere  's  Joe  'ammered  you  an'  'ammered 
you  —  look  at  your  bloomin'  chest  —  lumme !  'Ere  's  Joe 
been  knockin'  ye  down  an'  knockin'  ye  down,  an'  you 
comin'  up  smilin'  for  more  an'  gettin'  it  —  'ere 's  Joe 
been  a-poundin'  of  ye  all  over  the  ring,  yet  you  can  finish 
strong  an'  speedy  enough  to  put  Joe  down  —  blimy,  Guv, 
you  're  a  wonder  an'  no  error !  " 

"  I  don't  think  Joe  fought  his  hardest,  Old  Un." 

"  If  'e  did  n't,"  cried  the  old  man,  "  I  '11  punch  'im  on 
the  nose  so  'e  won't  never  smell  nothink  no  more." 

"  Sir,"  said  Joe,  "  in  the  first  round  p'raps  I  did  go  a 
bit  easylike,  but  arter  that  I  came  at  you  as  'ard  an'  'eavy 
as  I  could.  I  'it  you  where  an'  'ow  I  could,  barrin'  your 
face." 

"  I  hope  I  shall  soon  be  good  enough  for  you  to  go  for 
my  face  as  well,  Joe." 

"  But,  sir  —  if  I  give  you  a  black  eye  —  " 

"  How  will  —  say,  ten  dollars  do  ?  " 

"  Ten  dollars  !    For  blacking  your  eye,  sir  ?  " 

"  Lumme,  Joe !  "  cried  the  Old  Un,  "  get  back  into  the 
ring  and  black  'em  both  —  " 

"  Shut  up !  "  said  Joe,  scowling  down  into  the  Old  Un's 
eager  face,  "  you  'eartless  old  bloodsucker,  you !  " 

"Bloodsucker!"  screamed  the  old  man,  "  w'ot,  me? 
I  '11  punch  you  on  the  ear-'ole,  Joe,  so  's  you  never  'ear 
nothin'  no  more." 


146          The  Definite  Object 

"  Are  you  on,  Joe?  "  asked  Ravenslee,  while  the  Old 
Un,  swearing  softly,  unlaced  his  gloves. 

"  But,  crumbs,  sir  —  axin'  your  pardon,  things  '11  come 
a  bit  expensive,  won't  they?  Y'  see  —  " 

"  So  much  the  better,  ye  blighted  perisher !  "  snarled 
the  Old  Un,  "  an'  don't  forget  as  the  Guv  owes  you  thirty 
dollars  a'ready  —  an'  'arves,  mind." 

"  Stow  it,  you  old  bag  o'  wickedness  —  " 

"  Bag  o'  —  "  the  Old  Un  let  fall  the  boxing  gloves  and 
turning  on  Joe,  reached  up  and  shook  a  feeble  old  fist 
under  the  champion's  massive  chin.  "  Look  at  this,  me 
lad  —  look  at  this !  "  he  croaked.  "  Some  day  I  shall 
ketch  you  sich  a  perishin'  punch  as  '11  double  ye  up  till 
kingdom  come,  me  lad,  and  —  Lord,  the  Guv  's  countin'  out 
our  money  —  " 

"  Thirty  of  'em,  Joe,"  said  Ravenslee,  holding  out  a 
wad  of  bills. 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  Joe,  backing  away,  "  axing  yer  par 
don,  but  I  'd  rayther  not  —  you  give  me  such  uncommon 
good  wages,  sir,  and  a  bonus  every  race  we  run,  win  or 
lose  —  so,  sir,  I  —  I  'd  rayther  not  —  " 

"  Not?  "  cried  the  Old  Un,  "  not  take  money  as  is  'arf 
mine  —  Oh,  kick  'im,  somebody  —  kick  'im !  Pound  'im 
for  a  pigeon-'earted  perishin'  pork  pig  —  " 

"  That  '11  be  no  sugar  in  your  tea  t'night,  old  vicious- 
ness  !  But,  sir,  I  'd  rayther  not  —  " 

"  Don't  'eed  'im,  Guv  —  don't  'eed  the  flappin'  flounder. 
If  'e  wont  obleege  ye  in  a  little  matter  like  thirty  dollars, 
I  will  —  I  '11  always  obleege  you  —  " 

"  That 's  enough  from  you,  old  tombstones." 

"  Tombstones ! "  hissed  the  Old  Un,  scowling  darkly 
and  squaring  his  trembling  fists,  "  all  right,  me  lad,  'ere  's 
where  I  ketch  ye  one  as  '11  flatten  ye  out  till  the  day  o' 
doom  —  " 

Hereupon  Joe  caught  him  above  the  elbows,  and  lifting 
him  in  mighty  hands  that  yet  were  gentle,  seated  the 
snarling  old  fellow  in  the  armchair. 

"  Old  Un,"  said  he,  shaking  his  finger,  "  if  ye  give  me 


Joe  and  the  Old  Un          147 

any  more  of  it  —  off  t'  bed  I  take  ye  without  any  tea  at 
all !  "  The  Old  Un,  cowering  beneath  that  portentous 
finger,  swore  plaintively  and  promptly  subsided. 

"  And  now,"  said  Ravenslee,  thrusting  the  money  into 
Joe's  reluctant  hand,  "  when  I  make  a  bargain,  I  generally 
keep  it.  I  wish  all  my  money  had  been  spent  to  such  good 
purpose." 

"  What  about  me  ?  "  whined  the  old  man  humbly,  "  don't 
I  get  none,  Joe-lad?  " 

"  Not  a  cent,  you  old  rasper !  " 

"  Blimy,  Guv,  you  won't  forget  a  old  cove  as  'ud  shed 
'is  best  blood  for  ye?  " 

"  The  Guv'nor  don't  want  yer  blood,  old  skin-and-bones. 
And  now,  come  on,  sir  —  " 

"  Stay  a  minute,  Joe,  the  Old  Un  generally  keeps  time 
for  us  when  we  spar  rounds." 

"  That  I  do,  Guv,"  cried  the  old  man,  "  an'  give  ye 
advice  worth  its  weight  in  solid  gold;  you  owe  me  a  lot, 
s'  'elp  me." 

"  About  how  much?  " 

"  Well,  Guv,  I  ain't  got  me  ledger-book  'andy,  but 
roughly  speakin'  I  should  say  about  five  or  six  'undred 
dollars.  But  seein'  you  's  you  an'  I  'm  me  —  a  old  man 
true-'earted  as  never  crossed  nobody  —  let 's  say  —  fif 
teen  dollars." 

"  Why,  you  old  —  thievin'  —  vagabone !  "  gasped  Joe, 
as  Ravenslee  gravely  handed  over  the  money. 

"  Vagabone  yourself !  "  said  the  Old  Un,  counting  the 
bills  over  in  trembling  fingers.  "  The  Guv  wants  a  bath 
—  take  'im  away  —  'ook  it,  d'  j  'ear?  " 

"  Has  Patterson  got  everything  ready,  Joe?  "  enquired 
Ravenslee,  taking  up  his  clothes. 

"  No,  sir,"  mumbled  Joe,  "  but  I  '11  have  ye  bath  ready 
in  a  jiffy,  sir." 

"  But  where  's  Patterson?  " 

"  Well,  'e  —  'e  's  out,  sir." 

"And  the  footmen?" 

"  They  're  out,  sir." 


148  The  Definite  Object 

"  Oh !  And  the  housekeeper  —  er  —  what 's  her  name 
—  Mrs.  Smythe?" 

"  Gone  to  call  on  her  relations,  sir." 

"Ah!     And  the  maids?" 

"  Mrs.  Smythe  give  'em  leave  of  habsence,  sir.  Y'  see, 
sir,"  said  Joe  apologetically,  "  you  're  'ere  so  seldom,  sir." 

"  My  servants  are  not  exactly  —  er  —  worked  to  death, 
Joe?" 

"No,  sir." 

"  Manage  to  look  after  themselves  quite  well?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  It  seems  I  need  some  one  to  look  after  them  —  and 
me." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  A  woman,  Joe  —  one  I  can  trust  and  honour  and  — 
er  —  what  d'  ye  think?  " 

"  I  think  —  er  —  yes,  sir." 

"  Well  —  what  do  you  suggest  ?  " 

"  Marry  her,  sir." 

"  Joe,  that 's  a  great  idea !  Shake  hands !  I  surely  will 
marry  her  —  at  once  —  if  she  '11  have  me." 

"  She  '11  have  you,  sir." 

"  Do  you  really  think  she  will,  Joe  ?  " 

"  I  'm  dead  certain,  sir." 

"  Joe,  shake  again.  I  '11  speak  to  her  when  she  comes 
home.  To-morrow  's  Saturday,  is  n't  it?  " 

"  As  ever  was,  sir." 

"  Then,  Joe  —  wish  me  luck ;  I  '11  ask  her  —  to 
morrow  ! " 


CHAPTER    XVI 

OP   THE   FIRST   AND   SECOND   PERSONS,   SINGULAR   NUMBER 

IT  was  Saturday  morning,  and  Hermione  was  making  a 
pie  and  looking  uncommonly  handsome  about  it  and  al 
together  feminine  and  adorable;  at  least,  so  Ravenslee 
thought,  as  he  watched  her  bending  above  the  pastry 
board,  her  round,  white  arms  bared  to  each  dimpled  elbow, 
and  the  rebellious  curl  wantoning  at  her  temple  as  usual. 

"  But  why  kidneys,  my  dear?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Trapes, 
glancing  up  from  the  potatoes  she  was  peeling.  "  Kidneys 
is  rose  again;  kidneys  is  always  risin',  it  seems  to  me. 
If  you  must  have  pie,  why  not  good,  plain  beefsteak  ?  It 's 
jest  as  fillin'  an'  cheaper,  my  dear  —  so  why  an*  wherefore 
kidneys?  " 

"  Arthur  likes  them,  and  he  '11  be  hungry  when  he  comes 
in- 

"  Hungry,"  snorted  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  that  b'y  's  been 
hungry  ever  since  he  drawed  the  breath  o'  life.  How  's  he 
gettin'  on  with  his  new  job?  " 

"  Oh,  splendidly !  "  cried  Hermione,  flushing  with  sis 
terly  pride,  "  they  've  promised  him  a  raise  next  month." 

"What,  already?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trapes,  cutting 
viciously  into  a  potato.  "  If  he  don't  watch  out,  they  '11 
be  makin'  him  a  partner  next." 

"  Oh,  Ann,  I  wish  you  were  not  quite  so  —  so  hard  on 
him !  "  sighed  Hermione.  "  Remember,  he  's  only  a  boy !  " 

"  You  were  a  woman  at  his  age,  earning  enough  t'  keep 
ye  both  —  but  there !  I  don't  mean  t'  be  hard,  Hermy ; 
anyway,  a  man  's  never  much  good  till  he  's  growed  up, 
and  then  only  because  some  woman  teaches  him  how 
t'  be." 


150          The  Definite  Object 

"  What  do  you  say  to  that,  Mr.  Geoffrey  ?  "  enquired 
Hermione,  pausing,  flour-dredger  in  hand,  to  glance  at 
him  slily  under  her  brows. 

"  I  think  Mrs.  Trapes  is  a  wonderful  woman,"  he 
answered. 

"  Ah,  now,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  quit  y'r  jollying,"  said  Mrs. 
Trapes,  smiling  at  the  potato. 

"  Mrs.  Trapes  has  taught  me  much  wisdom  already  and, 
among  other  things,  that  I  shall  never  be  or  do  anything 
worth  the  while  without  the  aid  of  a  woman  —  " 

"  Lord,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  I  never  remember  sayin'  no  sich 
thing !  " 

"  Not  in  so  many  words,  perhaps,  but  you  implied  it, 
Mrs.  Trapes." 

"  H'm !  "  said  Mrs.  Trapes  dubiously. 
"  Consequently,  I  mean  to  ask  that  woman  —  on  the 
very  first  opportunity,  Miss  Hermione."  Seeing  that  Her 
mione  was  silent,  all  her  attention  being  centred  in  the 
dough  her  white  fists  were  kneading,  Mrs.  Trapes  spoke 
instead. 

"  D'  ye  mean  as  you  want  some  one  t'  look  after  you  — 
to  sew  an'  cook  an'  wash  an'  sew  buttons  on  for  ye  — 
I  know  the  sort !  " 

"  I  certainly  do,  and  —  " 

"  Ah,  it 's  a  slave  you  want,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  and  peanut 
men  don't  have  slaves  —  not  unless  they  marries  'em,  and 
a  woman  as  would  marry  a  peanut  man  has  only  herself 
t'  blame  —  peanuts  !  " 

Hermione  laughed,  reached  for  the  rolling-pin,  and  im 
mediately  fell  to  work  with  it,  her  head  stooped  rather 
lower  than  was  necessary.  As  for  Ravenslee,  he  lounged 
in  his  chair,  watching  the  play  of  those  round,  white  arms. 
"  But  why  the  kidneys,  Hermy?  You  've  got  to  cut  out 
luxuries  now,  my  dear  —  we  all  have,  I  guess  ;  it  '11  be  dry 
bread  next,  I  reckon." 

"  Why  so?  "  enquired  Ravenslee  lazily. 
"Why?"  cried  Mrs.   Trapes  bitterly,  "I'll  tell  you 
why  —  because  me  an'  Hermy  an'  every  one  else  is  bein' 


The  First  and  Second  Persons     151 

squeezed  dry  t'  fill  the  pockets  of  a  thing  as  calls  itself 
a  man  —  a  thievin'  beast  on  two  legs  as  is  suckin'  our 
blood,  gnawin'  our  flesh,  grindin'  the  life  out  of  us  —  a 
great  fat  man  as  is  treadin'  us  down  under  his  great 
boots,  down  an'  down  to  slavery  —  death  —  an'  worse  — 
it 's  such  men  as  him  as  keeps  the  flames  of  hell  goin'  — 
fat  frizzles  well,  an'  so  will  Mulligan,  I  hope !  " 

"  Mulligan  ?  "  enquired  Ravenslee. 

"  He  's  raised  the  rents  on  us,  Mr.  Geoffrey,"  sighed 
Hermione. 

"  Raised  the  rents? "  said  Ravenslee,  forgetting  to 
lounge. 

"  Sure !  "  nodded  Mrs.  Trapes  grimly.  "  I  guess  he 
thinks  we  live  too  easy  an'  luxoorious,  so  he  's  boosted  it 
up  a  dollar  per.  A  dollar  a  week  don't  sound  a  whole  lot, 
p'raps,  but  it  sure  takes  some  gettin';  folks  expects  a 
deal  o'  scrubbin'  an'  sewin'  an'  slavin'  for  a  dollar  —  yes, 
sir." 

"  We  shall  have  to  work  a  little  harder,  that  's  all,  Ann 
dear." 

"Harder?  I  guess  you  work  hard  enough  for  two  — 
an'  who  gets  the  benefit?  Why,  Mulligan  does.  Oh,  it 's 
a  great  comfort  t'  remember  the  flames  of  hell,  sometimes. 
Lord,  when  I  think  how  we  have  t'  slave  t'  make  enough 
t'  live  —  " 

"  There  are  others  worse  than  us,  Ann." 

"  Why,  yes,  there  's  poor  Mrs.  Finlay ;  she  's  got  to  go, 
an'  her  husband  paralysed !  There  's  little  Mrs.  Bowker 
sewed  herself  pretty  well  blind  t'  keep  her  home  together 
—  she  's  got  to  go.  There  's  Mrs.  Sims  with  all  those 
children,  and  the  —  but  there,  who  cares  for  the  likes  o' 
them  —  who  cares,  eh,  Mr.  Geoffrey?  An'  what  might 
you  be  dreamin'  over  this  time?  "  she  enquired,  eyeing 
Ravenslee's  long  figure  a  little  contemptuously,  for  he 
had  fallen  to  lounging  again,  sleepy  eyes  half  closed. 

"  I  was  thinking  what  a  lot  of  interest  we  might  find  in 
this  busy  world  —  if  we  only  would  take  the  trouble  to 
look  for  it !  "  he  answered.  "  The  fool  who  complains  that 


152  The  Definite  Object 

his  life  is  empty  is  blind  and  deaf  and  —  damnably  thick 

—  er  —  pardon  me,  I  —  er  nearly  got  excited." 
"Excited?"    snorted    Mrs.    Trapes,    "I'd    pay    good 

money  t'  see  you  like  that !  " 

"  You  see,  I  had  an  idea  —  a  rather  original  idea !  " 

"  Then  take  care  of  it,  Mr.  Geoffrey ;  nurse  it  careful, 
and  we  '11  have  ye  doin'  bigger  things  than  push  a  peanut 
barrer  —  peanuts  !  " 

"  Mrs.  Trapes,  I  've  got  a  stranglehold  on  that  idea, 
for  it  is  rather  brilliant." 

"  There  's  that  kettle  b'ilin'  at  last,  thank  goodness !  " 
sighed  Mrs.  Trapes,  crossing  to  the  stove,  "  tea  's  a  lux 
ury,  I  suppose,  but  —  oh,  drat  Mulligan,  anyway !  " 

So  Mrs.  Trapes  brewed  the  tea,  while  Ravenslee  gazed 
at  Hermione  again,  at  her  shapely  arms,  her  dimpled 
elbows,  her  preoccupied  face  —  a  face  so  serenely,  so 
utterly  unaware  of  his  regard,  of  course,  until  he  chanced 
to  look  away,  and  then  —  Hermione  stole  a  glance  at  him. 

"  There,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes  after  a  while, 
"  there  's  a  cup  o'  tea  as  is  a  cup  o'  tea,  brewed  jest  on 
the  b'ile,  in  a  hot  pot,  and  drawed  to  perfection !  Set 
right  down  an'  drink  it,  slow  an'  deliberate.  Tea  ain't 
meant  to  be  swallowed  down  careless,  like  a  man  does  his 
beer!  An'  why?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Trapes,  as  they  sipped 
the  fragrant  beverage,  all  three,  "  why  ain't  you  out  with 
your  precious  —  peanuts,  Mr.  Geoffrey?  " 

Ravenslee  set  down  his  cup  and  turned  to  Hermione. 

"  Mrs.  Trapes  has  told  you,  I  think,  that  I  am  become 

—  er  —  an  itinerant  vendor  of  the  ubiquitous  peanut  —  " 
"  Mr.    Geoffrey ! "    gasped    Mrs.    Trapes,    gulping    a 

mouthful  of  hot  tea  and  blinking,  "  I  never  did !  Never 
in  all  my  days  would  I  allow  myself  such  expressions  — 
Mr.  Geoffrey,  I  'm  ashamed  at  you !  An'  that  reminds 
me  —  it  was  chicken  fricassee,  was  n't  it?  For  your 
supper,  I  mean?  " 

"  I  believe  it  was." 

"  Then,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  rising,  "  I  '11  go  an'  buy  it. 
Was  you  wantin'  anything  fetched,  Hermy?  " 


The  First  and  Second  Persons     153 

"  If  you  would  n't  mind  bringing  a  bunch  of  aspara 
gus  —  " 

"  Sparrergrass !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trapes  in  horror- 
struck  tones,  "  why,  it 's  anywhere  from  thirty  to  sixty 
cents  —  " 

"  But  Arthur  loves  it,  dear,  and  now  that  he  's  working 
so  hard  —  " 

"  Arthur  likes  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Trapes  indignantly.  "  Mr. 
Geoffrey,  it 's  been  Arthur  ever  since  he  was  born,  an'  her 
scrinchin'  an'  pinchin'  herself  for  the  sake  o'  that  b'y. 
O'  course  he  likes  sparrergrass  —  so  do  I  —  but  I  make 
shift  with  pertatoes  or  cabbidge  or  carrots  —  an'  so  should 
he.  Come  now,  Hermy,  you  take  a  bunch  o'  carrots  in 
stead  ;  carrots  is  healthy  an'  cheap !  Come  now,  is  that 
sparrergrass  to  be  carrots  or  not?  " 

"  Ann,  that  asparagus  is  to  be  —  asparagus !  " 

"  Such  wicked  extravagance,  an'  all  for  that  b'y. 
Hermy,  I  'm  surprised  at  ye !  " 

For  a  long  moment  after  Mrs.  Trapes  had  departed 
there  was  silence,  while  Ravenslee  sat  gazing  where  Her- 
mione  stood  busy  at  her  pastry  again. 

"  Mr.  Geoffrey,"  said  she  at  last,  "  I  want  to  thank  you 
for  watching  over  my  boy.  Arthur  told  me  how  good  you 
were  to  him  while  I  was  away.  I  want  you  to  know  how 
grateful  I  am  —  " 

"  What  beautiful  hands  you  have,  Hermione  —  and  I 
shall  dream  of  your  arms." 

"  My  arms  ?  "  she  repeated,  staring. 

"  They  're  so  —  smooth  and  white  —  " 

"  Oh,  that 's  flour !  "  said  she,  bending  over  the  table. 

"  And  so  —  round  —  " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Geoffrey!  Can't  you  find  something  else  to 
talk  about?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,"  he  answered,  "  there  are  your  feet, 
so  slender  and  shapely  —  " 

"  In  these  frightful  old  shoes !  "  she  added. 

"  Worn  out  mostly  in  other  peoples'  service,"  he 
nodded.  "  God  bless  them !  " 


154          The  Definite  Object 

"  They  let  the  wet  in  horribly  when  it  rains !  "  she 
sighed. 

"  So  heaven  send  us  dry  weather !  Then  there  is  your 
wonderful  hair,"  he  continued,  "  so  long  and  soft  and  —  " 

"  And  all  bunched  up  anyhow !  "  said  she,  touching  the 
heavy,  shining  braids  with  tentative  fingers.  "  Please 
don't  say  any  more,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  because  I  just  know  I 
look  a  sight  —  I  feel  it !  And  in  this  old  gown  too  —  it 's 
the  one  I  keep  to  scrub  the  floors  in  —  " 

"  Scrub  the  floors  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  Why,  of  course,  floors  must  be  scrubbed,  and  I  've  had 
plenty  —  oh,  plenty  of  experience  —  now  what  are  you 
thinking?  " 

"  That  a  great  many  women  might  envy  you  that  gown 
for  the  beauty  that  goes  with  it.  You  are  very  beautiful, 
you  know,  Hermione." 

"And  beauty  in  a  woman  is  —  everything,  isn't  it?" 
she  said  a  little  bitterly  and  with  head  suddenly  averted. 

"  Have  I  offended  you?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered  without  looking  around,  "  only 
sometimes  you  are  so  very  —  personal." 

"  Because  the  First  and  Second  Persons  Singular  Num 
ber  are  the  most  interesting  persons  in  the  world,  and  — 
Hermione,  in  all  this  big  world  there  is  only  one  person  I 
want.  Could  you  ever  learn  to  love  a  peanut  man?  " 

"  That  would  all  depend  —  on  the  peanut  man,"  she 
answered  softly,  "  and  you  —  you  don't  talk  or  act  a  little 
bit  like  a  real  peanut  man." 

"  Well,  could  you  stoop  to  love  this  peanut  man  just 
as  he  is,  with  all  his  faults  and  failures,  love  him  enough 
to  trust  yourself  to  his  keeping,  to  follow  him  into  the 
unknown,  to  help  him  find  that  Beautiful  City  of  Perhaps 

—  could  you,  Hermione?"     As  he  ended  he  rose  to  his 
feet,  but  swiftly,  dexterously,  she  eluded  him. 

"  Wait !  "  she  pleaded,  facing  him  across  the  table,  "  I 

—  I  want  to  talk  to  you  —  to  ask  you  some  questions,  and 
I  want  you  to  be  serious,  please." 

"  Solemn  as  sixty  judges !  "  he  nodded. 


The  First  and  Second  Persons     155 

"  Well,  first,  Mr.  Geoffrey  —  why  do  you  pretend  to 
sell  peanuts?  " 

"  Pretend !  "  he  repeated,  trying  to  sound  aggrieved. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  not  blind,  Mr.  Geoffrey." 

"  No,  indeed  —  I  think  your  eyes  are  the  most  beau  —  " 

"  Oh,  please,  please  be  serious !  " 

"  As  a  dozen  owls  !  " 

"I  —  I  know,"  she  went  on  quickly,  "  I  'm  sure  you 
have  n't  always  had  to  live  in  such —  such  places  as  Mulli 
gan's.  I  know  you  don't  belong  here  as  I  do.  Is  it  ne 
cessity  has  driven  you  to  live  here  or  only  —  curiosity?  " 

"  Well  —  er  —  perhaps  a  little  of  both,"  he  admitted. 

"  Then  you  're  not  obliged  to  sell  peanuts  for  a  living?  " 

"  '  Obliged  '  is  scarcely  the  word,  perhaps ;  let  us  call  it 
a  peanut  penchant,  a  hobby,  a  —  " 

"  You  are  not  quite  so  —  poverty-stricken  as  you  pre 
tend?  "  Her  voice  was  very  soft  and  gentle,  but  she  kept 
her  head  averted,  also  her  foot  was  tapping  nervously  in 
its  worn  shoe. 

"  Oh,  as  to  money,"  he  answered,  "  I  have  enough  for 
my  simple  needs,  but  in  every  other  sense  I  am  a  miserable 
pauper.  You  see,  there  are  some  things  no  money  can 
buy,  and  they  are  generally  the  best  things  of  life." 

"  And  so,"  said  she,  interrupting  him  gently,  "  you 
come  here  to  Mulligan's,  you  deceive  every  one  into  think 
ing  you  are  very  poor,  you  make  a  pretence  of  selling 
peanuts  and  push  a  barrow  through  the  streets  —  why?  " 

"  First,  because  pushing  a  barrow  is  —  er  —  very 
healthy  exercise." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Geoffrey?  "  she  said  in  the  same  soft  voice. 

"  And  second,"  he  continued,  wishing  he  could  see  her 
face,  "  second,  because  I  find  it  —  er,  well  —  highly 
amusing." 

"  Amusing !  "  she  cried,  turning  suddenly,  her  eyes  very 
bright  and  her  cheeks  hot  and  anger-flushed.  "  Amus 
ing!  "  she  repeated,  "  ah,  yes  —  that 's  just  it  —  it 's  all 
only  a  joke  to  you,  to  be  done  with  when  it  grows  tiresome. 
But  my  life  here  —  our  life  is  very  real  —  ah,  terribly  real, 


156          The  Definite  Object 

and  has  been  —  sordid  sometimes.  What  is  only  sport 
to  you  for  a  little  while  is  deadly  earnest  to  me;  you  are 
only  playing  at  poverty,  but  I  must  live  it  —  " 

"  And  thirdly,"  he  continued  gently,  "  because  I  love 
you,  Hermione !  " 

"  Love  me !  "  she  repeated,  shaking  her  head.  "  Ah,  no, 
no  —  your  world  is  not  my  world  nor  ever  could  be." 

"  Why,  then,  your  world  shall  be  mine." 

"  Yes,  but  for  how  long?  "  she  demanded  feverishly. 
"  I  wonder  how  long  you  could  endure  this  world  of  mine? 
I  have  had  to  work  and  slave  all  my  life,  but  you  —  look  at 
your  hands,  so  white  and  well-cared  for  —  yours  are  not 
the  hands  of  a  worker !  " 

"  No,  I  'm  afraid  they  're  not !  "  he  admitted  a  little 
ruefully. 

"  Now  look  at  mine  —  see  my  fingers  all  roughened  by 
my  needle." 

"  Such  busy,  capable  hands !  "  said  he,  drawing  a  pace 
nearer,  "  hands  always  working  for  others,  so  strong  to 
help  the  distressed.  I  love  and  honour  them  more  just 
because  of  those  work-roughened  fingers."  As  he  spoke 
he  reached  out  very  suddenly,  and  clasping  those  slender 
hands,  stooped  and  kissed  them  reverently.  Now,  glancing 
up,  he  beheld  her  red  lips  quivering  while  her  eyes  were 
suffused  all  at  once,  as,  drooping  her  head,  she  strove  to 
loose  his  hold. 

"  Let  me  go !  "  she  whispered,  "I  —  I  —  ah,  let  me  go  !  " 

"  Hermione,"  he  breathed,  "  oh,  Hermione,  how  beauti 
ful  you  are !  "  But  at  this  she  cried  out  almost  as  if  he 
had  struck  her  and,  wrenching  her  hands  free,  covered  her 
face. 

"  Oh,  God !  —  are  all  men  the  same?  " 

"  Hermione,"  he  stammered,  "  Hermione  —  what  do  you 
mean?  " 

"  I  mean,"  she  answered,  proud  head  up-flung,  "  there 
were  always  plenty  of  men  to  tell  me  that  —  when  I  was 
an  office  scrubwoman.  Well? "  she  demanded  fiercely, 
stung  by  something  in  his  look,  "  what  did  you  think  I  'd 


The  First  and  Second  Persons     157 

been?  When  a  girl  is  left  alone  with  a  baby  brother  to 
care  for,  she  can't  wait  and  pick  and  choose  work  that 
is  nice  and  ladylike;  she  must  take  what  comes  along  or 
starve  —  so  I  worked.  I  used  to  scrub  floors  and  stairs 
in  an  office  building.  I  was  very  young  then,  and  Arthur 
hardly  more  than  a  baby,  and  it  was  either  that  or  starva 
tion  or  —  "  she  flushed  painfully,  but  her  blue  eyes  met  his 
regard  unflinchingly ;  "  anyway,  I  —  preferred  to  be 
a  scrubwoman.  So  now  you  know  what  I  mean  by  your 
world  not  being  my  world,  and  I  —  I  guess  you  see  how 

—  how  impossible  it  all  is." 

For  a  long  moment  was  a  silence  wherein  she  stood 
turned  from  him,  her  trembling  fingers  busily  folding  and 
refolding  a  pleat  in  her  apron  while  he  stared  down 
blindly  at  the  floor. 

"  So  you  preferred  the  slavery  of  scrubbing  floors,  did 
you,  Hermione?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  Of  course !  "  she  answered,  without  turning  or  lifting 
her  heavy  head. 

"  And  that,"  said  he,  his  voice  as  placid,  as  serenely  un 
hurried  as  usual,  "  and  that  is  just  why  all  things  are  going 
to  be  possible  to  us  —  yes,  even  turning  my  wasted  years 
to  profit.  Oh,  my  Hermione,  help  me  to  be  worthy  of  you 

—  teach  me  what  a  glorious  thing  life  may  be  — 

"  I?  "  she  said  wonderingly,  her  drooping  head  still 
averted,  "  but  I  am  —  " 

"  Just  the  one  woman  I  want  to  be  my  own  for  ever 
and  always,  more  —  far  more  than  I  have  ever  wanted 
anything  in  my  life." 

"  But,"  she  whispered,  "  I  am  only  —  " 

"  The  best,  the  noblest  I  have  ever  known." 

"  But  a  —  scrubwoman !  " 

"  With  dimples  in  her  elbows,  Hermione !  "  In  one 
stride  he  was  beside  her,  and  she,  because  of  his  light  tone, 
must  turn  at  last  to  glance  up  at  him  half-fearfully ;  but 
those  grey  eyes  were  grave  and  reverent,  the  hands 
stretched  out  to  her  were  strangely  unsteady,  and  when 
he  spoke  again,  his  voice  was  placid  no  longer. 


158  The  Definite  Object 

"  Dear,"  he  said,  leaning  toward  her,  "  from  the  very 
first  I  've  been  dying  to  have  you  in  my  arms,  but  now 
I  —  I  dare  not  touch  you  unless  you  —  will  it  so.  Ah, 
don't  —  don't  turn  from  me ;  let  me  have  my  answer  — 
look  up,  Hermione !  " 

Slowly  she  obeyed,  and  beholding  the  shy  languor  of 
her  eyes,  the  sweet  hurry  of  her  breathing,  and  all  the 
sighing,  trembling  loveliness  of  her,  he  set  his  arms  about 
her,  drawing  her  close;  and  she,  yielding  to  those  com 
pelling  arms,  gave  herself  to  the  passion  of  his  embrace. 
And  so  he  kissed  her,  her  warm,  soft-quivering  mouth,  her 
eyes,  her  silken  hair,  until  she  sighed  and  struggled  in  his 
clasp. 

"  My  hair,"  she  whispered,  "  see  —  it 's  all  coming 
down !  " 

"  Well,  let  it  —  I  'd  love  to  see  it  so,  Hermione." 

"  Should  you?     Why  then  —  let  me  go,"  she  pleaded. 

Reluctantly  he  loosed  her,  and  standing  well  beyond 
his  reach,  she  shook  her  shapely  head,  and  down,  down  fell 
the  heavy  coils,  past  shoulder  and  waist  and  hip,  rippling 
in  shining  splendour  to  her  knees.  Then,  while  he  gazed 
spellbound  by  her  loveliness  she  laughed  a  little  un 
steadily,  and  flushing  beneath  his  look,  turned  and  fled 
from  him  to  the  door;  when  he  would  have  followed  she 
stayed  him. 

"  Please,"  she  said,  tender-voiced,  "  I  want  to  be  alone 
—  it  is  all  so  wonderful,  I  want  to  be  alone  and  —  think." 

"  I  may  see  you  again  to-night,  Hermione  ?  Dear  —  I 
must." 

"  Why,  if  you  must,"  she  said,  "  how  can  I  —  prevent 
you?" 

Then,  all  at  once,  her  cool,  soft  arms  were  about  his 
neck,  had  drawn  him  down  to  meet  her  kiss,  and  —  he  was 
alone  with  the  pastry  board,  the  rolling-pin  and  the  flour- 
dredger  —  but  he  saw  them  all  through  a  golden  glory, 
and  when  he  somehow  found  himself  out  upon  the  dingy 
landing,  the  glory  was  all  about  him  still. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

HOW   GEOFFREY   RAVENSLEE   MADE   A   DEAL  IN   REAL   ESTATE 

THE  morning  sun  blazed  down,  and  Tenth  Avenue  was 
full  of  noise  and  dust  and  heat;  children  screamed  and 
played  and  fought  together,  carts  rumbled  past,  distant 
street  cars  clanged  their  bells,  the  sidewalks  were  full  of 
the  stir  and  bustle  of  Saturday;  but  Ravenslee  went  his 
way  heedless  of  all  this,  even  of  the  heat,  for  before  his 
eyes  was  the  vision  of  a  maid's  shy  loveliness,  and  he 
thrilled  anew  at  the  memory  of  two  warm  lips.  Thus 
he  strode  unheeding  through  the  jostling  throng  at  a 
speed  very  different  from  his  ordinary  lounging  gait. 
Very  soon  he  came  to  a  small  drug-store,  weather-beaten 
and  grimy  of  exterior  but  very  bright  within,  where  every 
thing  seemed  in  a  perpetual  state  of  glitter,  from  the 
multitudinous  array  of  bottles  and  glassware  upon  the 
shelves  to  the  taps  and  knobs  of  the  soda  fountain.  Yet 
nowhere  was  there  anything  quite  so  bright  as  the  shrewd, 
twinkling  eyes  of  the  little  grey-haired  man  who  greeted 
Ravenslee  with  a  cheery  nod. 

"  Hot  enough?  "  he  enquired. 

"  Quite !  "  answered  Ravenslee. 

"  Goin'  to  be  hotter." 

"  Afraid  so." 

"  Rough  on  th'  kiddies,  an'  ice  goin'  up.  Which  re 
minds  me  I  sent  on  the  mixture  you  ordered  for  little 
Hazel  Bowker." 

"  Good,"  nodded  Ravenslee. 

"  And  the  pills  to  Mrs.  Sims." 

"  Good  again." 

"  An'  the  sleeping-draught  for  old  Martin  Finlay." 


160  The  Definite  Object 

"  Good  once  more." 

"  Won't  last  long,  old  Martin,  I  guess.  Never  been  the 
same  since  little  Maggie  drowned  herself,  poor  child. 
What  d'  ye  want  this  morning?  " 

"  First  to  pay  for  the  medicine,"  said  Ravenslee,  laying 
a  five-dollar  bill  on  the  counter,  "  and  then  the  use  of 
your  'phone." 

"  Right  there,"  said  the  chemist,  nodding  toward  a  cer 
tain  shady  corner,  where,  remote  from  all  intruding  bustle, 
was  a  telephone  booth  into  which  Ravenslee  stepped  forth 
with  and  where  ensued  the  following  one-sided  conversa 
tion: 

RAVENSLEE.     "  Hello !  " 

TELEPHONE.     "  Buzz  !  " 

RAVENSLEE.  "  Hello,  Central,  give  me  Thirty-three 
Wall,  please." 

TELEPHONE.     "  Ting-a-ling  —  buzz !  " 

RAVENSLEE.  "  Damn  this  'phone  —  what  ?  No,  I  said 
Double-three  Wall." 

TELEPHONE.     "Buzz!     Ting!     Zut!" 

RAVENSLEE.  "  Sounded  different,  did  it?  Well,  I 
want  —  " 

TELEPHONE.     "Buzz!     Zut!     Ting!" 

RAVENSLEE.  "  Thanks.  Hello,  that  Thirty-three 
Wall?  Dana  and  Anderson's  Office?  Good!  I  want  to 
speak  with  Mr.  Anderson  —  say  Mr.  Ravenslee." 

TELEPHONE.     "  Zing !  " 

RAVENSLEE.     "  Thanks.    That  you,  Anderson?  " 

TELEPHONE.     "  Pang !  " 

RAVENSLEE.  "  Thanks  —  very  well !  What  the  devil 's 
wrong  with  this  instrument  of  torment  —  can  you  hear 
me?  " 

TELEPHONE.     "  Crack !  " 

RAVENSLEE.  "  Good !  Yes  —  that 's  better !  Now 
listen ;  I  want  you  to  do  some  business  for  me.  No,  I  'm 
buying,  not  selling.  I  'm  going  into  real  estate.  What, 
a  bad  speculation  ?  Well,  anyway,  I  'm  buying  tenement 
property  in  Tenth  Avenue,  known  as  Mulligan's,  I  be- 


A  Deal  in  Real  Estate         1 6 1 

lieve.  Oh,  you  've  heard  of  it,  eh?  Not  in  the  market? 
Not  for  sale?  Well,  I'll  buy  it.  Oh,  yes,  you  can  — 
what  d'  you  suppose  is  his  figure  ?  So  much  ?  Phew ! 
Oh,  well,  double  it.  No,  I  'm  not  mad,  Anderson.  No,  nor 
drunk  —  I  just  happen  to  want  Mulligan's  —  and  I'll 
have  it.  When  can  you  put  the  deal  through?  Oh,  non 
sense,  make  him  sell  at  once  —  get  him  on  the  'phone. 
Oh,  yes,  he  will,  if  you  offer  enough  —  Mulligan  would 
sell  his  mother  —  at  his  own  price.  You  quite  understand 
• —  at  once,  mind !  All  right,  good-by.  No,  I  'm  not  mad 

—  nor  drunk,  man ;    I  have  n't  tasted  a  cocktail  for  a 
month.     Eh  —  go  and  get  one  ?    I  will !  " 

So  saying,  Ravenslee  hung  up  the  receiver  and  hastened 
out  of  the  stifling  heat  of  the  suffocating  booth,  mopping 
perspiring  brow. 

"  You  look  kinder  warm !  "  ventured  the  chemist. 

"  I  feel  it." 

"  And  it 's  going  to  be  warmer.    Try  an  ice-cream  soda 

—  healthy  and  invigorating." 

"  And  better  than  any  cocktail  on  such  a  day !  " 

"I  guess!     Take  one?" 

"  Thank  you,  yes." 

So  the  bright-eyed  chemist  mixed  the  beverage  and 
handed  it  over  the  counter. 

"  Chin-chin !  "  he  nodded. 

"  Twice,"  said  Ravenslee,  lifting  the  long  glass.  "  To 
the  Beautiful  City  of  Perhaps !  "  and  he  drank  deep. 

"  Say,"  said  the  chemist,  staring,  "  that  sounds  t'  me 
like  a  touch  of  the  sun.  Try  a  bottle  of  my  summer  mix 
ture,  good  for  sunstroke,  heat-bumps,  colic,  spasms,  and 
Hell's  Kitchen  generally  —  try  a  bottle  ?  " 

"  Thanks,"  said  Ravenslee,  "  I  will."  And  grimly 
pocketing  the  bottled  panacea,  he  stepped  out  into  the 
hot  and  noisy  avenue. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

HOW    SPIKE    HEARKENED    TO    POISONOUS    SUGGESTION   AND 
SOAPY    BEGAN   TO    WONDER 

SPIKE  was  on  his  way  from  the  office,  very  conscious  of  his 
new  straw  hat  and  immaculate  collar ;  his  erstwhile  shabby 
suit  had  been  cleaned  and  pressed  by  Hermione's  skilled 
and  loving  fingers,  hence  Spike  turned  now  and  then  as 
he  passed  some  shop  window  to  observe  the  general  effect 
with  furtive  eye ;  and  stimulated  by  his  unwontedly  smart 
appearance,  he  whistled  joyously  as  he  betook  himself 
homeward.  Moreover  in  his  breast  pocket  was  his  pay 
envelope,  not  very  bulky  to  be  sure,  wherein  lay  his  first 
week's  wages,  and  as  often  as  he  turned  to  glance  at  the 
tilt  of  the  straw  hat  or  heed  the  set  of  his  tie,  his  hand 
must  needs  steal  to  this  envelope  to  make  sure  of  its  safety. 
His  fingers  were  so  employed  when  he  chanced  to  espy  a 
certain  article  exposed  for  sale  in  an  adjacent  shop  win 
dow;  whereupon,  envelope  in  hand,  he  incontinent  en 
tered  and  addressed  the  plump  Semitic  merchant  in  his 
usual  easy  manner. 

"  Greetin's,  Abe !     I  '11  take  one  o'  them  hair-combs." 

"  Hair-gombs  ?  "  nodded  the  merchant.     "  Vot  kind?" 

"  What  kind?    Why,  the  best  you  got." 

"  Ve  got  'em  up  to  veefty  dollars  —  " 

"  Come  off  it,  Cain,  come  off  —  I  ain't  purchasin'  a 
diamond  aigrette  to-day,  it 's  a  lady's  hair-comb  I  want  — 
good,  but  not  too  flossy-lookin'  —  savvy  that?  This '11 
do,  I  guess  —  how  much?  Right  there!"  said  Spike, 
flicking  a  bill  upon  the  counter.  "  That 's  it,  stick  it  in 
a  box  —  oh,  never  mind  th'  wrappin's.  S'  long,  Daniel !  " 

With  his  purchase  in  his  pocket,  Spike  strode  out  of  the 


Soapy  Begins  to  Wonder       163 

shop,  whistling  cheerily,  but  the  merry  notes  ended  very 
suddenly  as  he  dodged  back  again,  yet  not  quite  quick 
enough,  for  a  rough  voice  hailed  him,  hoarse  and  jovial. 

"  Why,  hello,  Kid,  how  goes  it  ?  "  M'Ginnis's  heavy 
hand  descended  on  his  shrinking  shoulder  and  next  moment 
he  was  out  on  the  sidewalk  where  Soapy  lounged,  a  smoul 
dering  cigarette  pendent  from  his  thin,  pallid  lips  as 
usual.  And  Soapy's  eyes,  so  bright  between  their  nar 
rowed,  puffy  lids,  so  old-seeming  in  the  youthful  oval  of 
his  pale  face,  were  like  his  cigarette,  in  that  they  smoul 
dered  also. 

"  Holy  smoke !  "  exclaimed  M'Ginnis,  surveying  Spike 
up  and  down  in  mock  amazement,  "  this  ain't  you,  Kid  — 
no,  this  sure  ain't  you.  Looks  all  t'  th'  company-pro 
moter,  don't  he,  Soapy?  " 

"  'S'  right,  Kid,  V  right !  "  nodded  the  pallid  youth,  his 
smouldering  eyes  always  turning  toward  M'Ginnis. 

"  Say,  now,  Bud,  quit  your  kiddin' ! "  said  Spike  petu 
lantly. 

"  But,  Gee  whiz !  "  exclaimed  M'Ginnis,  tightening  his 
grasp,  "  you  sure  are  some  class,  Kid,  in  that  stiff  collar 
an'  sporty  tie.  How  's  the  stock  market  ?  Are  ye  a  bull 
or  a  bear?  " 

"  Ah,  cut  it  out,  Bud !  "  cried  the  lad,  writhing. 

'*  Kight-o,  Kid,  right-o !  "  said  M'Ginnis,  loosing  his 
hold.  "  Yoa  'tt  eomin'  erver  t'  O'Rourke's  t'night,  of 
course?  " 

"  Why,  no,  Bud  —  I  can't." 

"  Oh,  t'  hell  wid  that  —  I  got  you  all  fixed  up  to  go  ten 
rounds  wid  Young  Alf,  th'  East  Side  Wonder  —  " 

"What?  "  exclaimed  Spike,  his  eyes  bright  and  eager, 
"  you  got  me  a  match  wi'  Young  Alf?  Say,  Bud  —  you 
ain't  stringing  me,  are  ye?  " 

"  Not  much.     I  told  you  I  'd  get  ye  a  real  chance  —  " 

"  Why,"  cried  Spike,  "  if  I  was  t'  lick  Young  Alf,  I  'd 
be  in  line  t'  meet  th'  top-notchers  !  " 

"  Sure  —  if  you  lick  him !  "  nodded  M'Ginnis  grimly. 

"  Say,"  said  Spike,  his  face  radiant,  "  I  've  just  been 


164  The  Definite  Object 

waitin'  an'  waitin'  for  a  chance  like  this  —  a  chance  t* 
show  you  an'  th'  bunch  I  can  handle  myself,  an'  now  "  —  he 
stopped  all  at  once,  and  shaking  his  head  gloomily,  turned 
away.  "  I  forgot,  I  —  I  can't,  Bud." 

"  Aw,  what 's  bitin'  ye?  " 

"  I  can't  come  t'night." 

"  Won't  come,  ye  mean !  " 

"  Can't,  Bud." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  promised  Hermy  t'  quit  fightin'  —  " 

"  Is  that  all?  Hermy  don't  have  t'  know  nothin'  about 
it.  This  is  a  swell  chance  for  ye,  Kid,  the  best  you  '11 
ever  get,  so  just  skin  over  t'night  an'  don't  say  nothin' 
t'  nobody." 

"I  —  can't,  Bud  —  that 's  sure." 

"  Goin'  t'  give  me  d'  throw-down,  are  ye?  " 

"  I  don't  mean  it  that  ways,  Bud,  but  I  can't  break  my 
promise  t'  Hermy  —  " 

"  She  'd  never  know." 

"  She  'd  find  out  some  ways ;  she  always  does,  and  I 
can't  lie  t'  her." 

"  So  you  won't  come,  hey?  We  ain't  classy  enough  for 
ye  these  days,  hey?  I  guess  goin'  to  an  office  every  day  is 
one  thing  an'  crackin'  a  millionaire's  crib  's  another." 

"  Cheese  it,  Bud,  cheese  it !  "  gasped  Spike,  pale  and 
trembling. 

"Right-o,  Kid!"  nodded  M'Ginnis,  "but  I've  been 
wantin'  t'  know  how  ye  made  your  get-away  that  night." 

"  Oh,  quit  —  quit  talkin'  of  it !  "  Spike  panted.  "I  — 
I  want  t'  forget  all  about  it.  I  been  tryin'  t'  think  it  never 
happened." 

"  Ah,  but  you  know  it  did,"  said  M'Ginnis,  "  an'  I 
know  it,  an'  Soapy  knows  it  did  —  don't  yer,  Soapy?  " 

"  'S'  right !  "  nodded  Soapy,  his  voice  soft,  his  eyes 
hard  and  malevolent. 

"  So  we  kinder  want  t'  know,"  continued  M'Ginnis,  heed 
less  always  of  those  baleful  watching  eyes,  "  we  just  want 
t'  get  on  t'  how  you  —  " 


Soapy  Begins  to  Wonder       165 

"  Oh,  say  —  give  it  a  rest !  "  cried  Spike  desperately* 
"  Give  it  a  rest,  can't  ye?  " 

"  Why,  then,  Kid,  what  about  comin'  over  t'  O'Rourke's 
t'night?" 

Spike  wrung  his  hands.  "  If  Hermy  finds  out,  she  '11  — 
cry,  I  guess  —  " 

"  Hermy !  "  growled  M'Ginnis,  black  brows  fierce  and 
scowling,  "  a  hell  of  a  lot  you  care  for  Hermy,  I  —  don't 
think !  " 

"  Say  now,  you  Bud,  whatcher  mean?  "  demanded  Spike, 
quivering  with  sudden  anger. 

"  Just  this,  Kid  —  what  kind  of  a  brother  are  ye  t'  go 
lettin'  that  noo  pal  o'  yours  —  that  guy  you  call  Geoff  — 
go  sneaking  round  her  morning,  noon,  an'  night?  " 

"  You  cut  that  out,  Bud  M'Ginnis.  Geoff  don't !  Geoff 
ain't  that  kind." 

"  He  don't,  eh?  Well,  what  about  all  this  talk  that 's 
goin'  on  —  about  him  an'  her,  an'  her  an'  him  —  eh?  " 

"  What  talk  ?  "  demanded  Spike,  suddenly  troubled. 

"  Why,  every  one  's  beginnin'  t'  notice  as  they  're  always 
meetin'  on  th'  stairs  —  an'  him  goin'  into  her  flat,  an* 
them  talkin'  an'  laughin'  together  when  you  're  out  o'  th' 
way  —  ah,"  growled  M'Ginnis,  between  grinding  white 
teeth,  "  an'  likely  as  not  kissin'  an'  squeezin'  in 
corners  —  " 

"  That 's  enough  —  that 's  enough !  "  cried  the  boy, 
fronting  M'Ginnis,  fierce-eyed.  "  Nobody  ain't  goin'  t' 
speak  about  Hermy  that  way." 

"  Y'  can't  help  it,  Kid.  Here  's  this  guy  Geoff,  this 
pal  o'  yours  —  been  with  her  —  in  her  flat  with  her,  all 
th'  mornin'  —  ain't  he,  Soapy?  " 

"  'S'  right,  Kid ! "  nodded  that  pallid  individual,  the 
smouldering  cigarette  a-swing  between  pale  lips;  and, 
though  he  addressed  Spike,  his  furtive  eyes,  watching 
aslant  between  narrowed  lids,  glittered  to  behold  M'Ginnis's 
scowling  brow;  also  the  wolverine  mouth  curled  faintly, 
so  that  the  pendulous  cigarette  stirred  and  quivered. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  handin*  ye  the  straight  goods,  Kid,"  M'Gin- 


1 66  The  Definite  Object 

nis  went  on.  "  I  'm  puttin'  ye  wise  because  you  're  my 
pal,  an'  because  I  've  known  Hermy  an'  been  kind  o'  soft 
•about  her  since  we  was  kids." 

"  Well,  then,  you  know  she  —  she  ain't  that  sort,"  said 
Spike,  his  voice  quavering  oddly.  "  So  —  don't  you  — 
say  no  more  —  see?  " 

"  All  right,  Kid,  all  right  —  only  I  don't  like  t'  see  this 
pal  o'  yours  gettin'  in  his  dirty  work  behind  your  back. 
If  anything  happens  —  don't  blame  me  —  " 

"What  —  what  you  tryin'  t'  tell  me  —  you  Bud?" 
questioned  Spike,  between  quivering  lips. 

"  I  'm  tellin'  ye  things  are  gettin'  too  warm  —  oh, 
Hermy  ain't  the  icicle  she  tries  t'  make  out  she  is." 

"  An'  I  'm  tellin'  you  —  you  're  a  liar,  Bud  M'Ginnis  — 
a  dirty  liar !  "  cried  the  boy. 

M'Ginnis's  bull  neck  swelled;  between  his  thick,  black 
brows  a  vein  swelled  and  pulsed.  Viewing  this,  Soapy's 
glittering  eyes  blinked,  and  the  pendulous  cigarette  quiv 
ered  faintly  again. 

"  Now  by  —  "  began  M'Ginnis,  lifting  menacing  fist ; 
then  his  arm  sank,  and  he  shook  his  big,  handsome  head. 
**  Oh,  pshaw !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  guess  you  're  all  worked 
up,  Kid,  so  I  ain't  takin'  no  notice.  But  savvy  this,  Kid, 
if  Hermy  ain't  goin'  t'  marry  me  on  th'  level,  she  ain't 
goin'  t'  let  this  guy  have  her  —  the  other  way  —  not 
much!  I  guess  you  ain't  forgotten  little  Maggie  Finlay? 
Well,  watch  out  your  pal  Geoff  don't  make  Hermy  go  th' 
same." 

Uttering  a  wild,  inarticulate  cry,  the  lad  sprang  —  to 
Ibe  caught  in  M'Ginnis's  powerful  grasp,  but,  even  so,  his 
iist  grazed  M'Ginnis's  full-lipped  mouth.  For  a  moment 
"Spike  strove  desperately  to  reach  Bud's  grim-smiling  face 
•until,  finding  his  efforts  vain,  he  ceased  all  at  once,  bowed 
liis  head  upon  his  arms,  and  burst  into  a  passion  of  bitter 
sobbing;  then,  with  an  agile  twist,  he  wrenched  himself 
free,  and  turning,  sped  away,  heedless  of  his  jaunty  straw 
hat  that  had  fallen  and  lay  upon  the  dusty  sidewalk. 
Languidly  Soapy  stooped  and  picked  it  up. 


Soapy  Begins  to  Wonder       167 

"His  noo  lid!"  said  he.  "Only  bought  t'day,  I 
reckon !  " 

"  Gee !  "  exclaimed  M'Ginnis,  staring  after  Spike's  flee 
ing  figure,  already  far  away,  "  he  sure  was  some  peevish !  " 

"  Some !  "  nodded  Soapy.  "  If  he  'd  happened  t'  have  a 
gun  handy,  here  's  where  you  'd  have  cashed  in  for  good, 
I  reckon.  Yes,  Bud,  you  'd  be  deader  'n'  mutton !  "  sighed 
Soapy,  turning  Spike's  hat  around  upon  his  finger. 
"  You  'd  be  as  dead  as  —  little  Maggie  Finlay  you  was 
mentionin' !  " 

M'Ginnis  wheeled  so  suddenly  upon  the  speaker  that  he 
took  a  long  step  backward,  but  he  still  spun  Spike's  hat 
upon  his  finger,  and  the  pendulous  cigarette  quivered  quite 
noticeably.  "  Aw,  quit  it,  Bud,  quit  it !  "  he  sighed. 
"  You  know  I  ain't  th'  kind  o'  guy  it 's  healthy  to  punch 
around  promiscuous." 

"  You  mean  if  he  'd  missed,  there  was  you,  eh?  " 

"  Well,  I  dunno,  Bud,  if  it  had  been  my  sister  — 
maybe  —  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  the  sort  o'  dirty  tyke  you  are,  Soapy  — 
but  I  'm  awake  —  an'  I  've  got  you,  see  ?  If  anything  was 
t'  happen  t'  me,  I  've  left  papers  —  proofs  —  'n'  it  'ud 
be  the  chair  for  yours  —  savvy?  " 

"  Anyway,  Bud,  I  —  I  have  n't  got  a  sister,"  said 
Soapy,  juggling  deftly  with  the  hat.  "  But  there  's  one 
thing,  Bud,  th'  guy  who  gets  actin'  Mr.  Freshy  with 
Hermy  is  sure  goin'  to  ante-up  in  kingdom  come,  if  th' 
Kid  's  around." 

"  You  're  a  dirty  dog,  Soapy,  but  you  've  got  brains 
in  your  ugly  dome.  I  guess  you  're  right  about  th'  Kid* 
an'  that  gives  me  an  almighty  good  idea !  "  And  M'Ginnis 
walked  on  awhile,  deep  in  thought ;  and  ever  as  he  went, 
so  between  those  pale  and  puffy  lids  two  malevolent  eyes 
watched  and  watched  him. 

"  No,"  sighed  Soapy  at  last,  sliding  a  long,  pale  hand 
into  the  pocket  of  his  smartly-tailored  coat,  "  no,  I  ain't 
got  a  sister,  Bud,  but  there  was  little  Maggie  Finlay.  I 
kind  o'  used  t'  think  she  was  all  t'  th'  harps  an'  haloes.  I 


1 68  The  Definite  Object 

used  t'  kind  o'  hope  —  but  pshaw !  she  's  dead  —  ain't 
she,  Bud?  " 

"  I  guess  so !  "  nodded  M'Ginnis,  yet  deep  in  thought. 

"  An'  buried  —  ain't  she,  Bud?  " 

"  What  th'  hell !  "  exclaimed  Bud,  turning  to  stare, 
"  what 's  bitin'  ye?  " 

"  I  'm  wonderin'  *  why  ',  an'  I  'm  likewise  wonderin' 
*  who  ',  Bud.  Maybe  I  '11  find  out  for  sure  some  day. 
I  'm  —  waitin',  Bud,  waitin'.  Goin'  around  t'  O'Rourke's, 
are  ye?  Oh,  well,  I  guess  I  '11  hike  along  wid  ye,  Bud." 


CHAPTER    XIX 

IN  WHICH  THE  POISON  BEGINS  TO  WORK 

SPIKE  sat  glowering  at  the  newspaper,  yet  very  conscious, 
none  the  less,  that  Hermione  often  turned  to  glance  at 
him  wistfully  as  she  bustled  to  and  fro ;  at  last  she  spoke. 

"  Arthur,  dear  —  why  so  gloomy  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  —  I  mean,  I  'm  not." 

"  You  're  not  sulking  about  anything?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  you  're  sick." 

"  I  'm  aU  right." 

"  But  you  did  n't  enj  oy  your  dinner  a  little  bit." 

"I  —  I  was  n't  hungry,  I  guess,"  said  Spike,  frowning 
down  at  the  paper.  But  Hermione  was  beside  him,  her 
cool  fingers  caressing  his  curls. 

"  Boy,  dear  —  what  is  it?  " 

"  Say,  Hermy,  where  'd  you  get  them  roses?  "  and  he 
nodded  to  the  flowers  she  had  set  among  her  shining  hair. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Geoffrey  brought  them." 

"  Been  here,  has  he?  " 

"  Yes,  he  came  in  with  Ann  this  morning  —  why?  " 

"Did  he  — did  he  stay  long?" 

"  N-o,  I  don't  think  so  —  why?  " 

"  Comes  round  here  pretty  often,  don't  he?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,  he  's  your  friend,  dear,  and  we  are  very 
near  neighbours." 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  that,  but  —  folks  are  beginning  to  — 
talk." 

Hermione's  smooth  brows  were  wrinkled  faintly  and 
her  caressing  hand  had  fallen  away. 

"  To  talk !  "  she  repeated,  "  you  mean  about  —  me  ?  " 


170  The  Definite  Object 

"  Yes !  "  nodded  Spike,  avoiding  her  eyes,  "  about  you 
and  —  him !  " 

"  Well  —  let  them !  "  she  answered  gently,  "  you  and 
Ann  are  all  I  care  about,  so  let  them  talk." 

"  But  I  —  I  don't  like  folks  t'  talk  about  my  sister,  an' 
it 's  got  t'  stop.  You  got  t'  tell  him  so,  or  else  I  will. 
What 's  he  got  t'  go  buying  ye  flowers  for,  anyway?  " 

Hermione's  black  brows  knit  in  a  sudden  frown. 
«  Arthur,  don't  be  silly !  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  think  I  'm  only  a  kid  —  but  I  ain't  — 
I  'm  not.  If  you  can't  take  care  of  —  of  yourself,  I  must 
and  —  " 

"  Arthur  —  stop !  " 

"  Well,  but  what 's  he  always  crawlin'  around  here 
for?  " 

"  He  does  n't  crawl  —  he  could  n't,"  she  cried  in  sudden 
anger ;  then  in  gentler  tones,  "  I  don't  think  you  'd  better 
say  any  more,  or  maybe  I  shall  grow  angry.  If  you  have 
grown  to  think  so  —  so  badly  of  him,  remember  I  'm  your 
sister." 

"  But  you  're  a  girl,  an'  he  *s  a  man  an'  —  " 

"  Stop  it !  "  Hermione  stamped  her  foot,  and  meeting 
her  flashing  glance,  Spike  wilted  and  —  stopped  it.  So, 
while  he  glowered  at  the  paper  again,  Hermione  put  away 
the  dinner  things,  making  more  clatter  about  it  than  was 
usual,  and  turning  now  and  then  to  glance  at  him  from 
under  her  long  lashes. 

"  Where  did  you  meet  M'Ginnis  as  you  came  home, 
Arthur?  " 

"  At  the  corner  of  —  say,  who  told  you  I  met  him  ?  " 

"  You  did." 

'"  I  never  said  a  word  about  meetin'  him." 
'"  No,  but  you  've  been  telling  me  what  he  told  you. 
Only  M'Ginnis  could  be  vile  enough  to  dare  say  such  things 
about  me.     Oh,  Arthur,  for  shame  —  how  can  you  listen 
to  that  brute  beast  —  for  shame !  " 

Now,  meeting  the  virginal  purity  of  those  eyes,  Spike 
felt  his  cheeks  burn,  and  he  wriggled  in  his  chair. 


The  Poison  Begins  to  Work     171 

o  / 

"  Bud  only  told  me  Geoff  had  been  —  been  here,"  he 
stammered,  "  and  I  guess  it  was  the  truth  —  I  —  I 
mean  —  " 

"  Oh,  boy,  for  shame !  "  and  turning  about,  she  swept 
from  the  room,  her  head  carried  very  high,  leaving  him 
crouched  in  his  chair,  his  nervous  fingers  twisting  and 
turning  a  small  box  in  his  pocket  —  the  box  that  held  the 
forgotten  hair-comb.  He  was  still  sitting  miserably  thus 
when  he  heard  a  knock  on  the  outer  door  and  a  moment 
later  a  woman's  voice,  querulous  and  high-pitched. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Hermy,  my  Martin  's  very  bad  t'  night,  an'  I 
got  t'  go  out,  an'  I  can't  leave  him  alone ;  would  ye  mind 
comin'  down  an'  sittin'  with  him  for  a  bit?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  I  will." 

"  Y'  see,  since  he  had  th'  stroke,  he  's  sorrered  for  our 
little  Maggie  —  he  was  hard  on  her,  y'  see,  an'  since  she 
—  she  died  —  he  's  been  grievin'  for  her.  Had  himself  laid 
in  her  little  room  —  seemed  to  comfort  him  somehow.  But 
to-day,  when  he  heard  we  had  to  leave  because  th'  rent  was 
rose,  it  nigh  broke  his  poor  heart.  An'  I  got  to  go  out, 
an'  I  can't  leave  him  alone,  so  —  if  y'  would  n't  mind, 
Miss  Hermy  —  " 

"  Just  a  moment  —  I  '11  come  right  now."  As  she  spoke, 
Hermione  reentered  the  kitchen,  untying  her  apron  as 
she  came.  Spike  sat  watching,  waiting,  yearning  for  a 
word,  but  without  even  a  glance  Hermione  turned  and  left 
him.  When  he  was  alone,  he  started  to  his  feet  and 
tearing  the  box  from  his  pocket  dashed  it  fiercely  to  the 
floor;  then  as  suddenly  picked  it  up,  and  approaching 
the  open  window,  drew  back  his  hand  to  hurl  it  out  and 
so  stood,  staring  into  the  face  that  had  risen  to  view 
beyond  the  window  ledge,  a  round  face  with  two  very 
round  eyes,  a  round  button  of  a  nose,  and  a  wide  mouth, 
just  now  up-curving  in  a  grin. 

"  Hey,  you,  Larry,  what  you  hangin'  around  here  for?  "" 
demanded  Spike,  slipping  the  box  into  his  pocket  again. 
"  What  you  doin'  on  our  fire  escape,  hey?  " 

"  Brought  back  yer  roof !  "  replied  the  lad. 


172          The  Definite  Object 

"Well,  where  is  it?" 

"  Here  it  is."  And  climbing  astride  the  window  sill, 
Liarry  handed  in  the  jaunty  straw. 

"  Where  'd  you  find  it?  " 

"  Bud  give  it  me,  'n'  say  —  " 

"  All  right,"  nodded  Spike,  dusting  the  straw  tenderly 
with  a  handkerchief.  "  Now  git,  I  wanter  be  alone." 

"  But,  say,  Kid,  Bud  says  I  was  ter  say  as  he  's  sorry 
for  what  he  said,  'n'  say,  he  says  you  'd  better  be  gettin' 
over  t'  O'Rourke's,  'n'  say  —  " 

"I  ain't  comin'!" 

"  But  say,  you  're  t'  fight  Young  Alf ,  'n'  say  —  " 

"  I  ain't  comin' !  " 

"  But  say,  dere  's  a  lot  of  our  money  on  ye  —  I  got 
two  plunks  meself,  'n'  say,  you  just  gotter  fight  anyway. 
Bud  says  so  —  " 

"  I  can't  help  what  Bud  says ;  I  ain't  comin'." 

"  Not  comin' !  "  exclaimed  Larry,  his  eyes  rounder  than 
ever. 

"  No !  " 

Larry's  wide  mouth  curved  in  a  slow  grin,  and  he 
nodded  his  close-cropped  head;  said  he: 

"  Say,  Kiddo,  you  know  Young  Alf 's  a  punishin' 
fighter,  I  guess ;  you  know  as  nobody  's  never  stopped  him 
yet,  don't  yer ;  you  know  as  you  're  givin'  him  six  pounds 
—  say,  you  ain't  —  scared,  are  ye?  " 

"  Scared?  "  repeated  Spike,  frowning.  "  Do  I  look  like 
I  was  scared  ?  You  know  there  ain't  any  guy  I  'm  scared 
of  —  but  I  promised  Hermy  —  " 

"  Pip-pip !  "  grinned  Larry.  "  Say,  if  you  don't  turn 
up  t'  night,  d'  ye  know  what  d'  bunch  '11  say  ?  Dey  '11  say 
you  're  a  —  quitter !  " 

"  Well,  don't  you  say  it,  that 's  all !  "  said  Spike,  laying 
aside  his  hat  and  clenching  his  fists. 

"  Not  me !  "  grinned  Larry.  "  There  '11  be  plenty  to 
do  that,  I  guess  —  dey  'd  call  it  after  ye  in  d'  streets  — 
dey  '11  give  ye  th'  ha !  ha !  Dey  '11  say  Hermy  Chester 
ton's  brother  's  a  quitter  —  a  quitter !  " 


The  Poison  Begins  to  Work     173 

For  a  long  moment  Spike  stood  with  bent  head  and 
hands  tightly  clenched,  then  crossing  to  the  sideboard, 
he  picked  up  his  shabby  cap. 

"  Who  's  in  my  corner?  " 

"  Now  you  're  talkin',  Kiddo ;   I  know  as  you  —  " 

"  Who  's  in  my  corner?  " 

"  Bud  an'  Lefty,  'n'  say,  I  guess  they  can  handle  you 
all  right,  eh?  'N'  say,  come  on,  let 's  cop  a  sneak  before 
any  one  butts  in  —  d'  fire  escape  for  ours,  eh?" 

"  Sure ! "  said  Spike,  climbing  through  the  window. 
"  Oh,  there  ain't  nobody  goin'  t'  call  Hermy  Chesterton's 
brother  a  quitter." 

"  You  bet  there  ain't !  "  grinned  Larry,  "  come  on, 
Kid!" 


CHAPTER    XX 

OF    AN    EXPEDITION    BY    NIGHT 

"  WHY,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  what  you  settin'  here  in  the  dark 
for?  " 

"  Is  it  dark,  Mrs.  Trapes?  " 

"  My  land !  Can't  you  see  as  it 's  too  dark  t'  see,  and  — 
oh,  shucks,  Mr.  Geoffrey !  " 

"  Certainly,  Mrs.  Trapes !  But  can't  you  see  that  the 
whole  world  —  my  world,  anyway  —  is  full  of  a  refulgent 
glory,  a  magic  light  where  nothing  mean  or  sordid  can 
possibly  be,  a  light  that  my  eyes  never  saw  till  now  nor 
hoped  to  see,  a  radiance  that  may  never  fail,  I  hope  —  a 
—  er  — " 

"  Oh,  go  on,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  go  on.  Only  I  guess  I  '11 
light  the  gas  jest  the  same,  if  you  don't  mind!  "  Which 
Mrs.  Trapes  did  forthwith.  "  But  what  was  you  a-doin' 
of  all  alone  in  the  dark?  " 

"  Glorying  in  life,  Mrs.  Trapes,  and  praising  the  good 
God  for  health  and  strength  to  enjoy  it  and  the  fulness 
thereof  —  " 

"  '  Fulness  thereof  '  meanin'  jest  what,  Mr.  Geoffrey?  " 

"  The  most  beautiful  thing  in  a  beautiful  world,  Mrs. 
Trapes." 

"  An'  that 's  Hermy,  I  s'pose.  An'  all  that  talk  o' 
glory  an'  radiance  an'  magic  light  means  as  you  've  been 
an'  spoke,  I  guess?  " 

"  It  does." 

"  An'  what  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"Nothin'?" 

"  Not  with  her  lips,  but  —  " 


An  Expedition  by  Night       175 

"Oh  —  her  eyes,  was  it?  Mr.  Geoffrey,  I'll  tell  you 
what  —  a  girl  may  look  *  yes  '  with  her  eyes  a  whole  week 
an'  say  *  no  '  with  her  mouth  jest  once  and  mean  '  no  '  — 
when  it 's  to  a  peanut  man  —  Lordy  Lord !  what 's 
that?  "  And  Mrs.  Trapes  jumped  as  a  hand  rapped 
softly  on  the  door,  and  stared  horrified  to  see  a  human 
head  protrude  itself  into  the  room  while  a  voice  said : 

"  Da  Signorina  she  out,  so  me  come  tell-a  you  piece-a- 
da-noos  —  ' 

"  Why,  if  it  ain't  that  blessed  guinney !  Go  away  — 
what  d'  ye  want?  " 

Hereupon  Tony  flashed  his  white  teeth,  and  opening 
the  door,  bowed  with  his  inimitable  grace,  grew  solemn, 
tapped  his  nose,  winked  knowingly,  and  laid  finger  to  lip. 

"  My  land !  "  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  staring.  "  What 's  the 
matter  with  the  Eyetalian  iji't  now?  " 

"  Spike  —  he  go  make-a-da-fight !  "  whispered  Tony 
hoarsely. 

"  Eh  —  Arthur  fightin'  —  where?  " 

"  He  go  make-a-da-box  —  he  drink-a-da-booze,  den  he 
walk-a  —  so !  Den  da  Signorina  she-a-  cry  —  " 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  you  mean  as  that 
b'y  's  off  boxin'  again?  " 

"  Si,  si  —  he  go  make-a-da-box-fight." 

"  Is  he  over  at  O'Rourke's,  Tony?  "  enquired  Ravenslee, 
sitting  upright. 

"  I  bet-a-my-life,  yes  —  " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Geoffrey !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trapes,  clasping 
bony  hands.  "  If  they  bring  him  home  drunk  like  they 
did  last  time !  " 

"  They  shan't  do  that,  Mrs.  Trapes.  Don't  worry, 
I  '11  go  and  fetch  him,"  said  Ravenslee,  getting  to  his 
feet. 

"  Fetch  him  ?  From  O'Rourke's  ?  Are  ye  crazy  ? 
You  'd  get  half-killed  like  as  not.  Oh,  they  're  a  bad, 
ugly  lot  down  there !  " 

"  I  feel  rather  ugly  myself,"  said  Ravenslee,  looking 
around  for  the  shabby  hat ;  "  anyway,  I  'm  going  to  see." 


176  The  Definite  Object 

"  Why,  then,  if  you  're  goin'  t'  venture  among  that  lot, 
you  take  this  with  ye,  Mr.  Geoffrey,"  and  she  thrust  the 
poker  into  his  hand.  "  You  '11  sure  need  it  —  ah,  do 
now !  "  But  Ravenslee  laughed  and  set  it  aside.  "  You  'd 
better  take  it,  Mr.  Geoffrey;  fists  is  fists,  but  gimme  a 
poker  —  every  time !  A  poker  ain't  t'  be  sneezed  at ! 
What,  go  in'  —  an'  empty-'anded?  Mr.  Geoffrey,  I'm 
surprised  at  you.  Think  of  Hermy !  " 

t(  That 's  just  what  I  am  doing." 

"  Well,  s'posin'  they  hurt  you !    What  '11  Hermy  do?  " 

"  You  think  she  'd  mind,  then,  though  I  'm  —  only  a 
peanut  man?  " 

"  Even  a  peanut  man  's  a  feller  creatur,  ain't  he  —  an' 
Hermy's  'eart  is  very  tender  an'  —  oh,  shucks,  Mr.  Geof 
frey,  I  guess  you  know  she  'd  jest  be  crazy  if  you  was 
hurt  bad!" 

"  Why,  then,"  said  Ravenslee,  smiling  and  taking  up 
the  battered  hat,  "  I  '11  take  great  care  of  myself  —  trust 


me 


i  » 


"  Then  good-by,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  good-by  and  —  the  good 
Lord  go  with  you." 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Trapes,"  said  Ravenslee  and  fol 
lowed  Tony  out  upon  the  stair.  Upon  one  of  the  many 
landings  the  young  Italian  paused. 

"  Me  put-a-you  wise,  Geoff ;  you  savvy  where-a  to  find 
Spike,  now  me  go  back  t'  my  lil  Pietro,  yes.  S'  long,  pal, 
'n'  good-a  luck !  " 

Ravenslee  hastened  on  down-stairs,  returning  neigh 
bourly  nods  and  greetings  as  he  went,  but  staying  for 
none,  and  so,  crossing  the  court,  turned  into  the  avenue. 
On  the  corner  he  beheld  the  Spider,  hard  at  work  on  his 
eternal  chewing  gum,  cap  drawn  low  and  hands  in  pockets. 
Seeing  Ravenslee,  he  nodded  and  lurched  forward. 

"  What 's  doin',  Geoff?  "  he  enquired. 

"  I  'm  off  to  O'Rourke's  —  coming?  " 

"  Not  much !  An'  say,  't  ain't  worth  your  trouble  —  I 
ain't  fightin'.  Nawthin'  but  a  lot  o'  fifth-raters." 

"  I  'm  going  over  to  fetch  Spike." 


An  Expedition  by  Night       177 

"How  much?"  exclaimed  the  Spider,  his  square  jaws 
immobile  from  sheer  astonishment.  "  Say,  you  ain't  crazy, 
are  ye  —  I  mean  you  ain't  dippy  or  cracked  in  the  dome, 
are  ye?  Because  d'  Kid  's  goin'  ten  rounds  with  Young 
Alf,  d'  East  Side  Wonder,  t'night,  see?  " 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it,  Spider." 

"  Aw  —  come  off,  bo !    D'  ye  think  Bud  '11  let  him  go?  " 

"  I  shan't  ask  Bud  —  or  any  one  else." 

"  Meanin'  as  you  '11  walk  right  in  on  Bud's  tough  bunch 
an'  cop  out  d'  Kid  on  y'r  lonesome  —  eh  ?  " 

"  I  shall  try." 

"  Then  you  sure  are  crazy ;  if  y'r  dome  ain't  cracked 
yet,  it 's  sure  goin'  t'  be.  Why,  Bud  'n'  his  crowd  '11  soak 
you  good  'n'  plenty  'n'  chuck  ye  out  again  quicker  'n  ye 
went  in.  They  will  sure,  bo  —  if  you  go  —  " 

"  I  'm  wondering  if  you  '11  come  along  and  help  ?  "  said 
Ravenslee  lazily. 

"  Me  ?  Not  so  's  you  could  notice  it.  I  ain't  huntin' 
that  sort  o'  trouble." 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  think  you  'd  —  er  —  better  not,  I  '11 
go  alone." 

"  What,  yer  goin',  are  ye?  " 

"  Of  course !  You  see,  Spike  is  my  friend ;  consequently 
his  trouble  is  my  trouble.  Good  night,  Spider,  and  what 
ever  else  you  do,  be  sure  to  —  er  —  take  good  care  of 
yourself !  "  And  Ravenslee  smiled  and  turned  away ;  but 
he  had  not  gone  six  paces  before  the  Spider  was  at  his 
elbow. 

"  Say,  bo,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  like  the  way  you  smile, 
but  you  talk  so  soft  an'  pretty,  I  guess  I  '11  jest  have  t' 
come  along  t'  gather  up  what  they  leave  of  ye." 

"Spider,"  said  Ravenslee,  "shake!"  The  Spider 
obeyed,  somewhat  shamefacedly  to  be  sure. 

"  It  looks  like  two  domes  bein'  cracked  'stead  o'  one, 
an'  all  along  o'  that  fool-kid !  "  Having  said  which,  he 
lurched  on  beside  Ravenslee,  chewing  voraciously. 

"  How  you  goin'  t'  work  it?  "  he  enquired  suddenly. 

"  I  don't  know  yet." 


178  The  Definite  Object 

"  Hully  Chee !  You  've  sure  gotcher  nerve  along. 
There  's  some  o'  the  toughest  guys  in  little  Manhattan 
Village  at  O'Rourke's  dump  t'night,  keepin'  th'  ring  an' 
fair  achin'  for  trouble." 

"  We  must  dodge  'em,  Spider." 

"S'pose  we  can't?" 

"  Then  we  must  trust  our  luck,  and  I  've  got  a  hunch 
we  shall  get  Spike  away  somehow  before  Mr.  Flowers  dopes 
him  or  makes  him  drunk ;  anyway  we  '11  try.  The  dress 
ing  rooms  are  behind  the  annex,  are  n't  they  ?  " 

"  Know  the  place,  do  ye?  " 

"  I  've  looked  it  over.  We  can  get  in  behind  the  annex, 
can't  we?  " 

"  In  ?  "  repeated  the  Spider,  smiling  grimly.  "  Oh, 
we  '11  get  in  all  right ;  what  gets  my  goat  is  how  we  're 
goin'  t'  get  out  again.  You  sure  are  a  bird  for  takin' 
chances,  Geoff." 

"  Life  is  made  up  of  chances,  Spider,  and  there  are  two 
kinds  of  men  —  those  who  take  them  joyfully  and  those 
who  don't." 

"  Well,  say,  you  can  scratch  me  on  the  joyful  business. 
I  'm  th'  guy  as  only  takes  chances  he  's  paid  t'  take." 

"  How  much  are  you  getting  on  this  job,  Spider?  " 

"  Oh  —  well  —  I  mean  —  say,  what 's  th'  time,  bo  ?  " 

"  Five  minutes  after  eight  —  why  ?  " 

"  I  guess  d'  Kid  's  in  th'  ring,  then.  There  's  a  full 
card  t'night,  an'  he 's  scheduled  for  eight  sharp,  so  I 
reckon  he  's  fightin'  now  —  an'  good  luck  to  him  !  "  By 
this  time  they  had  reached  that  dark  and  quiet  neighbour 
hood  where  stood  O'Rourke's  saloon.  But  to-night  the 
big  annex  glared  with  light,  and  the  air  about  it  was  full 
of  a  dull,  hoarse,  insistent  clamour  that  swelled  all  at 
once  to  a  chorus  of  discordant  shrieks  and  frenzied  cries. 

"  Ah !  "  quoth  the  Spider  sagely,  "  hark  to  'em  howl ! 
That  means  some  guy  's  gettin'  his,  alright.  Listen  to 
'em;  they  love  t'  get  blood  for  their  entrance  money,  an' 
they  're  sure  gettin'  it.  Some  one  's  bein'  knocked  out  — 
come  on !  " 


An  Expedition  by  Night       179 

It  was  a  dark  night,  for  there  was  no  moon  and  the  stars 
were  hidden;  thus,  as  Ravenslee  followed  the  Spider,  he 
found  himself  stumbling  over  the  uneven  ground  of  a 
vacant  lot,  a  lonely  place  beyond  which  lay  the  distant 
river.  At  last  they  reached  various  outbuildings,  looming 
up  ugly  and  ungainly  in  the  dimness. 

"  Say,  bo,"  said  the  Spider,  stopping  suddenly  at  a 
small  and  narrow  door,  "  you  'd  best  wait  here  and  lemme 
go  first." 

"  No,  we  '11  go  together." 

"  Right-o,  only  be  ready  to  make  a  quick  get-away ! " 
So  saying,  the  Spider  opened  the  door  and,  closely  fol 
lowed  by  Ravenslee,  stepped  into  a  dimly-lit  passage  thick 
with  the  blue  vapour  of  cigars  and  cigarettes.  It  was  9, 
long,  narrow  corridor,  bare  and  uncarpeted,  seeming  to 
run  the  length  of  the  building;  on  one  hand  was  a  row 
of  dingy  windows  and  on  the  other  were  several  doors, 
from  behind  which  came  the  sound  of  many  voices  that 
talked  and  sang  and  swore  together,  a  very  babel. 

At  the  end  of  this  passage  was  yet  another  door  which 
gave  upon  a  small  room  that  contained  a  rickety  sofa,  a 
chair,  and  a  battered  desk;  a  kerosene  lamp  suspended 
against  the  wall  burned  dimly,  and  it  was  into  this  cham 
ber  that  the  Spider  ushered  Ravenslee  somewhat  hastily; 
the  Spider's  eyes  were  very  bright,  and  he  chewed  rather 
more  fiercely  than  usual. 

"  Bo,"  said  he,  "  this  place  ain't  exactly  a  bed  o'  roses 
for  a  strange  guy  like  you.  Y'  see,  this  is  Bud's  own 
stampin'-ground,  an'  the  whole  bunch  is  here  t'night,  and 
most  of  'em  are  heeled.  Soapy  an'  Bud  always  tote  guns, 
I  know.  So  I  guess  you  'd  better  mark  time  here  a  bit 
while  I  chase  around  an'  locate  th'  Kid.  If  any  one  asks 
what  you  're  doin'  around  here,  say  as  you  come  in  with 
me.  But,  bo  "  —  and  here  the  Spider  laid  an  impressive 
hand  on  Ravenslee's  arm  —  "  if  you  should  happen  t'  see 
Bud,  well,  don't  stop  to  look  twice  but  beat  it  —  let  it  be 
th'  door  or  winder  for  yours  —  only  —  beat  it !  " 

"Oh,  why?" 


i8o  The  Definite  Object 

"  Well,  I  know  Bud  's  got  it  in  f er  you ;  I  heard  him 
say  —  oh,  well,  if  his  gun  should  go  off  —  accidental-like, 
this  place  ain't  exactly  Broadway  or  Fifth  Av'noo,  bo  — 
see?  " 

"  I  see !  "  nodded  Ravenslee. 

"  Hold  on !  "  said  Spider,  and  crossing  to  the  window, 
he  unlatched  it  stealthily  and  lifted  it  high,  "  if  I  ain't 
back  inside  of  ten  minutes,  bo,  nip  out  through  here  and 
hike;  wait  for  me  at  the  lamp-post  across  the  lot  over 
there  —  it  '11  be  safer.  D'  ye  get  me?  " 

"I  do !  "  nodded  Ravenslee. 

"  I  guess  you  'd  be  less  of  a  fool  if  you  was  to  get  out 
now  an'  wait  —  outside !  "  Spider  suggested. 

Ravenslee  shook  his  head. 

"  I  '11  wait  here,"  said  he,  "  there  are  times  when  I  can 
be  as  big  a  fool  as  the  next,  Spider,  and  this  is  one  of 
them." 

"  That 's  so !"  nodded  the  Spider,  and  chewing  viciously, 
he  turned  and  was  gone,  to  be  hailed  a  few  minutes  later 
in  uproarious  greeting  by  many  discordant  voices  which 
died  slowly  to  a  droning  hum  above  which  came  sounds 
more  distant,  shouts  and  cheers  from  the  auditorium. 

Left  alone,  Ravenslee  looked  about  him,  and  then  espied 
a  newspaper  that  lay  upon  the  desk.  Idly  taking  it  up, 
his  gaze  was  attracted  by  these  words,  printed  in  large 
black  letters : 

NOTORIOUS  CRIMINAL  RUN  TO  EARTH 
JACOB  HEINE  THE  GUN-MAN 
ARRESTED    IN    JERSEY    CITY 

Below  in  small  type  he  read  this: 

Jacob  Heine,  believed  to  be  the  perpetrator  of 
several  mysterious  shooting  affrays,  and  member 
of  a  dangerous  West  Side  gang,  was  arrested 
to-day. 

The  light  being  dim,  Ravenslee  drew  closer  to  the  lamp, 
and   standing   thus    against   the   light,   his    face   was   in 


An  Expedition  by  Night       1 8  i 

shadow  —  also  his  long  figure  was  silhouetted  upon  the 
opposite  wall,  plain  to  be  seen  by  any  one  opening  the 
door.  Suddenly,  as  he  stood  with  head  bent  above  the 
paper,  this  door  opened  suddenly,  and  M'Ginnis  entered; 
he  also  held  a  paper,  and  now  he  spoke  without  troubling 
to  lift  his  scowling  gaze  from  the  printed  column  he  was 
scanning: 

"  That  you,  Lefty?  Here  's  a  hell  of  a  mix-up  —  that 
dog-gone  fool  Heine 's  got  himself  pinched  —  and  in 
Jersey  City  too!  I  told  him  t'  stay  around  here  till 
things  was  quiet!  It 's  goin'  t'  be  a  hell  of  a  job  t'  fix 
things  for  him  over  there  —  't  ain't  like  N'  York.  But 
we  got  t'  fix  things  for  him  or  chance  him  squealing  on 
th'  rest  of  us,  but  what  beats  me  is  —  " 

M'Ginnis's  teeth  clicked  together,  and  the  paper  tore 
suddenly  between  his  hands  as,  glancing  up  at  last,  he 
beheld  two  keen,  grey  eyes  that  watched  him  and  a  mouth, 
grim  and  close-lipped,  that  curled  in  the  smile  Spider 
did  n't  like. 

For  a  long,  tense  moment  they  stood  motionless,  eye  to 
eye,  then,  reaching  behind  him,  M'Ginnis  locked  the  door, 
and  drawing  out  the  key,  thrust  it  into  his  pocket. 

"So  —  I  got  ye  at  last  —  have  I  ?  "  said  he  slowly. 

"  And  I  've  got  you,"  said  Ravenslee  pleasantly ;  "  we 
seem  to  have  got  each  other,  don't  we?  " 

"  See  here,  you,"  said  M'Ginnis,  his  massive  shoulders 
squared,  his  big  chin  viciously  outthrust,  "  you  're  goin' 
t'  leave  Mulligan's,  see?  " 

"Am  I?"  said  Ravenslee,  lounging  upon  a  corner  of 
the  battered  desk. 

"  You  sure  are,"  nodded  M'Ginnis.  "  Hell's  Kitchen 
ain't  big  enough  for  you  an'  me,  I  guess ;  you  're  goin* 
because  I  say  so,  an'  you  're  goin'  t'night !  " 

"  You  surprise  me !  "  said  Ravenslee  sleepily. 

"  You  're  goin'  t'  quit  Hell's  Kitchen  for  good  and  — 
you  ain't  comin'  back !  " 

"  You  amaze  me !  "  and  Ravenslee  yawned  behind  his 
hand. 


1 82  The  Definite  Object 

"  An'  now  you  're  goin'  t'  listen  why  an'  wherefore  — 
if  you  can  keep  awake  a  minute !  " 

"  I  '11  try,  Mr.  Flowers,  I  '11  try." 

M'Ginnis  thrust  clenched  hands  into  his  pockets  and 
surveyed  Ravenslee  with  scornful  eyes  —  his  lounging 
figure  and  stooping  shoulders,  his  long,  white  hands  and 
general  listless  air. 

"  God !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  that  she  should  trouble  t'  look 
twice  at  such  a  nancy-boy ! "  and  he  spat,  loud  and 
contemptuously. 

"  Almost  think  you  're  trying  to  be  rude,  Mr.  Flowers." 

"  Aw  —  I  could  n't  be,  to  a  —  thing  like  you !  An'  see 
here  —  me  name  's  M'Ginnis !  " 

"  But  then,"  sighed  Ravenslee,  "  I  prefer  to  call  you 
Flowers  —  a  fair  name  for  a  foul  thing  —  " 

M'Ginnis  made  a  swift  step  forward  and  halted,  hard- 
breathing  and  menacing. 

"  How  much?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Fair  name  for  a  very  foul  thing,  Mr.  Flowers,"  re 
peated  Ravenslee,  glancing  up  at  him  from  under  slumber 
ous,  drooping  lids  —  "  anyway,  Flowers  you  will  remain !  " 
As  they  stared  again,  eye  to  eye,  M'Ginnis  edged  nearer 
and  nearer,  head  thrust  forward,  until  Ravenslee  could  see 
the  cords  that  writhed  and  swelled  in  his  big  throat,  and 
he  hitched  forward  a  languid  shoulder.  "  Don't  come  any 
nearer,  Flowers,"  said  he,  "  and  don't  stick  out  your  jaw 
like  that  —  don't  do  it ;  I  might  be  tempted  to  try  to  — 
er  —  hit  it !  " 

"  What  —  you?  "  said  M'Ginnis,  and  laughed  hoarsely, 
while  Ravenslee  yawned  again. 

"  An'  now,  Mr.  Butt-in,  if  you  're  still  awake  —  listen 
here.  I  guess  it 's  about  time  you  stopped  foolin'  around 
Hermy  Chesterton  —  an'  you  're  goin'  t'  quit  —  see !  " 
Ravenslee's  eyes  flashed  suddenly,  then  drooped  as  M'GJn- 
nis  continued :  "  So  you  're  goin'  t'  sit  down  right  here, 
an'  you  're  goin'  t'  write  a  nice  little  note  of  farewell,  an' 
you  're  goin'  t'  tell  her  as  you  love  her  an'  leave  her  be 
cause  I  say  so  —  see?  Ah!"  he  cried,  suddenly  hoarse 


An  Expedition  by  Night       183 

and  anger-choked,  "  d'  ye  think  I  '11  let  Hermy  look  at  a 
thing  like  you  —  do  ye  ?  —  do  ye  ?  "  and  he  waited. 
Ravenslee  sat  utterly  still,  and  when  at  last  he  spoke  his 
voice  sounded  even  more  gentle  than  before. 

"  My  good  Flowers,  there  is  just  one  thing  you  shall 
not  do,  and  that  is,  speak  her  name  in  my  hearing.  You  're 
not  fit  to,  and,  Mr.  Flowers,  I  '11  not  permit  it." 

"  Is  that  so?  "  snarled  M'Ginnis,  "  well,  then,  listen  some 
more.  I  know  as  you  're  always  hangin'  around  her  flat, 
and  if  Hermy  don't  care  about  losing  her  good  name  — 

Even  as  Ravenslee's  long  arm  shot  out,  M'Ginnis  side 
stepped  the  blow,  and  Ravenslee  found  himself  staring  into 
the  muzzle  of  a  revolver. 

"  Ah  —  I  thought  so !  "  he  breathed,  and  shrank  away. 

"  Kind  of  alters  things,  don't  it?  "  enquired  M'Ginnis, 
hoarse  and  jeering.  "  Well,  if  you  don't  want  it  to  go 
off,  sit  down  an'  write  Hermy  as  pretty  a  little  note  as 
you  can  —  no,  shut  that  window  first." 

Silent  and  speechless,  Ravenslee  crossed  to  the  window 
and  drew  down  the  sash,  in  doing  which  he  noticed  a 
dark  something  that  crouched  beneath  the  sill. 

"  An'  now,"  said  M'Ginnis,  leaning  against  a  corner  of 
the  desk,  "  sit  down  here,  nice  an'  close,  an'  write  that 
letter  —  there  's  pen  an'  ink  an'  paper  —  an'  quick  about 
it  or  by  —  " 

M'Ginnis  sprang  up  and  turned  as  the  glass  of  the 
window  splintered  to  fragments,  and,  almost  with  the 
crash,  Ravenslee  leapt  —  a  fierce  twist,  a  vicious  wrench, 
and  the  deadly  weapon  had  changed  hands. 

"  Lucky  it  did  n't  go  off,"  said  Ravenslee,  smiling  grimly 
at  the  revolver  he  held,  "  others  might  have  heard,  and, 
Mr.  Flowers,  I  want  to  be  alone  with  you  just  a  little 
longer.  Of  course,  I  might  shoot  you  for  the  murderous 
beast  you  are,  or  I  might  walk  you  over  to  the  nearest 
police  depot  for  the  crook  I  think  you  are  —  but  —  oh, 
well,  of  late  I  've  been  yearning  to  get  my  hands  on  you  and 
so  "  —  Ravenslee  turned  and  pitched  the  revolver  through 
the  broken  window.  But,  almost  as  the  weapon  left  his 


184          The  Definite  Object 

hand,  M'Ginnis  was  upon  him,  and,  reeling  from  the  blow, 
Ravenslee  staggered  blindly  across  the  room,  till  stayed 
by  the  wall,  and  sank  there,  crouched  and  groaning,  his 
face  hidden  in  his  hands. 

With  a  cry  hoarse  and  fierce,  M'Ginnis  followed  and 
stooped,  eager  to  make  an  end  —  stooped  to  be  met  by 
two  fierce  hands,  sure  hands  and  strong,  that  grasped  his 
silken  neckerchief  as  this  crouching  figure  rose  suddenly 
erect.  So  for  a  wild,  panting  moment  they  grappled, 
swaying  grimly  to  and  fro,  while  ever  the  silken  necker 
chief  was  twisted  tight  and  tighter.  Choking  now,  M'Gin 
nis  felt  fingers  on  his  naked  throat,  iron  fingers  that 
clutched  cruelly,  and  in  this  painful  grip  was  whirled, 
choking,  against  the  wall  and  thence  borne  down  and 
down.  And  now  M'Ginnis,  lying  helpless  across  his  op 
ponent's  knee,  stared  up  into  a  face  pale  but  grimly  joy 
ous,  lips  that  curled  back  from  gnashing  white  teeth  — 
eyes  that  glared  merciless.  So  Ravenslee  bent  M'Ginnis 
back  across  his  knee  and  choked  him  there  awhile,  then 
suddenly  relaxed  his  hold  and  let  M'Ginnis  sink,  gasping, 
to  the  floor. 

"  A  little  —  rough,  Mr.  Flowers,"  he  panted,  "  a  trifle 
—  rough  with  you  —  I  fear  —  but  I  want  you  —  to  know 
that  you  —  shall  not  utter  —  her  name  —  in  my  presence. 
Now  the  key  —  I  prefer  door  to  window  —  the  key,  Mr. 
Flowers  —  ah,  here  it  is !  "  So  saying,  Ravenslee  stood 
upright,  and  wiping  blood  and  sweat  from  him  with  his 
sleeve,  turned  to  the  door.  "  One  other  thing,  Mr. 
Flowers ;  have  the  goodness  to  take  off  your  neckerchief 
next  time,  or  I  —  may  strangle  you  outright." 

Halfway  down  the  passage  Ravenslee  turned  to  see 
Murder  close  on  his  heels.  Once  he  smote  and  twice,  but 
nothing  might  stay  that  bull-like  rush  and,  locked  in  a 
desperate  clinch,  he  was  borne  back  and  back,  their 
trampling  lost  in  the  universal  din  about  them,  as  reeling, 
staggering,  they  crashed  out  through  wrecked  and  splin 
tered  door  and,  still  locked  together,  were  swallowed  in 
the  night  beyond. 


An  Expedition  by  Night       185 

Thus  the  Spider,  crouching  in  the  dark  beneath  the 
broken  window  with  Spike  beside  him,  was  presently  aware 
of  the  sickening  sounds  of  furious  struggling  close  at 
hand,  and  of  a  hoarse,  panting  voice  that  cursed  in  fierce 
triumph  —  a  voice  that  ended  all  at  once  in  a  ghastly 
strangling  choke;  and  recognising  this  voice,  the  Spider 
hunched  his  great  shoulders  and  bore  Spike  to  a  remote 
spot  where  stood  a  solitary  lamp-post.  Here  he  waited, 
calm-eyed  and  chewing  placidly,  one  arm  about  the  fret 
ful  Spike. 

Presently  Ravenslee  joined  them;  the  shabby  hat  was 
gone,  and  there  was  a  smear  of  blood  upon  his  cheek,  also 
he  laboured  in  his  breathing,  but  his  eyes  were  joyous. 

"  Bo,  what  about  Bud?  " 

"  Oh,  he  's  lying  around  somewhere." 

"  Hully  Chee  —  d'  ye  mean  —  " 

"  He  tried  gouging  first,  but  I  expected  that ;  then  he 
tried  to  throttle  me,  but  I  throttled  a  little  harder.  He  's 
an  ugly  customer,  as  you  said,  but  "  —  Ravenslee  laughed 
and  glanced  at  his  bloody  knuckles  —  "I  don't  think  he  '11 
be  keen  to  rough  it  with  me  again  just  yet." 

"  Bo,  I  guess  you  can  be  pretty  ugly  too  —  say,  when 
you  laugh  that  way  I  feel  —  kind  of  sorry  for  Bud." 

"  Why,  what 's  wrong  with  Spike  ?  " 

"  Dunno  —  I  guess  they  've  been  slinging  dope  into  him. 
And  he  's  copped  it  pretty  bad  from  Young  Alf  too  —  look 
at  that  eye !  " 

"  Spike !  "  said  Ravenslee,  shaking  him,  "  Spike,  what  is 
it  ?  Buck  up,  old  fellow !  "  But  Spike  only  stared  dazedly 
and  moaned. 

"  It 's  dope  all  right,"  nodded  the  Spider,  "  or  else 
Bud  's  mixed  th'  drinks  on  him." 

"  Damn  him !  "  said  Ravenslee  softly.  "  I  wish  I  M 
throttled  a  little  harder !  " 

"  I  guess  you  give  Bud  all  he  needs  for  the  present,"  said 
Spider  grimly,  "  anyway,  I  'm  goin'  t'  see.  The  Kid  ain't 
hurt  none.  Get  him  home  t'  bed,  an'  he  '11  be  all  right  — 
s'  long,  Geoff." 


1 86  The  Definite  Object 

"  Good  night,  Spider,  and  —  thank  you.  Oh,  by  the 
way,  who  's  Heine?  " 

"  Heine  's  a  Deutscher,  Geoff.  Heine  's  about  as  clean 
as  dirt  an'  as  straight  as  a  corkscrew;  why,  he'd  shoot 
his  own  mother  if  y'  paid  him,  like  he  did  —  but  say,  what 
d'  you  know  about  him,  anyway?  " 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  I  know  he  's  been  arrested  in 
Jersey  City  —  " 

"  Heine  ?  Pinched  ?  Say,  bo,  what  yer  givin'  us  — 
who  says  so?  " 

"  Bud,  and  —  " 

But  the  Spider,  waiting  for  no  more,  had  turned  about 
and  was  running  back  across  the  open  lot. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

HOW  M'GINNIS  THREATENED  AND  —  WENT 

"  ME.  GEOFFREY,  prayer  is  a  wonderful  prop  to  a  anxious 
'eart !  "  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  leaning  over  the  banisters  to 
greet  him  as  he  ascended.  "  Mr.  Geoffrey,  my  hands  has 
been  lifted  in  prayer  for  ye  this  night  as  so  did  me  behoove, 
and  here  you  are  safe  back  with  —  that  b'y.  A  prayer 
prayed  proper,  and  prayed  by  them  as  ain't  plaguein'  the 
Lord  constant  about  their  souls  an'  other  diseases,  is 
always  dooly  regarded.  Yes,  sir,  a  occasional  petition  is 
always  heard  and  worketh  wonders  as  the  —  my  land, 
Mr.  Geoffrey,  look  at  your  face !  " 

"  I  know,  Mrs.  Trapes.     Has  she  come  in  yet?  " 

"  Not  yet  —  an'  glad  I  am.  You  're  all  bleedin'  — 
stoop  your  head  a  bit  —  there ! "  and  very  tenderly  she 
staunched  the  cut  below  the  curly  hair  with  an  apron  clean 
and  spotless  as  usual.  "  And  the  b'y  —  lord,  what 's 
come  to  him?  " 

"  A  black  eye  —  two,  I  'm  afraid.  Anyhow,  I  '11  look 
after  him  and  get  him  into  bed  before  she  comes ;  can  you 
keep  her  away  till  I  've  done  so?  " 

"  I  '11  try.  Poor  lad !  "  she  sighed,  touching  Spike's 
drooping  head  with  bony  fingers,  "  if  she  was  n't  his  sister, 
I  'd  be  sorry  for  him !  " 

So  Ravenslee  took  Spike  in  hand,  bathing  his  bruised 
and  battered  features  and  setting  ice  water  to  his  puffy 
lips,  which  the  lad  gulped  thirstily.  Thereafter  he  revived 
quickly  but  grew  only  the  more  morose  and  sulky. 

"All  right,"  he  muttered,  "I'll  go  t'  bed,  only  — 
leave  me,  see !  " 

"  Can't  I  help  you?  " 


i88  The  Definite  Object 

"  No  —  you  lemme  alone.  Oh,  I  know  —  you  think  I  'm 
soused,  but  I  ain't ;  I  —  I  'm  not  drunk,  I  tell  ye  —  I 
wish  I  was.  I  ain't  no  kid,  so  lemme  alone  —  an'  I  ain't 
drunk.  What  if  me  legs  is  shaky?  So  'ud  yours  be  if 
you  'd  got  —  what  I  got.  It  was  dat  last  swing  t'  d' 
j  aw  as  done  me  —  but  I  ain't  drunk  'n'  I  ain't  a  kid  t'  be 
undressed  —  so  chase  ye'self  an'  lemme  alone !  " 

"  All  right,  Spike  —  only  get  to  bed  like  a  good  chap 
before  your  sister  comes." 

"  You  leave  my  sister  alone ;  she  ain't  —  that  kind,  an' 
she  ain't  fer  you,  anyway." 

"  That  will  do,  Arthur  —  get  into  bed !  I  '11  give  you 
five  minutes !  "  So  saying,  Ravenslee  turned  away,  but,  as 
he  closed  the  door,  his  quick  ear  detected  the  clink  of  glass, 
and  turning,  he  saw  Spike  draw  a  small  flask  from  his 
pocket. 

"  Give  me  that  stuff,  old  fellow." 

"  Oh,  you  can't  con  me !  I  ain't  a  kid,  so  you  lemme 
alone !  "  and  Spike  raised  the  flask  to  his  lips,  but  in  that 
instant  it  was  snatched  away.  Spike  staggered  back  to  the 
wall  and  leaned  there,  passing  his  hand  to  and  fro  across 
his  brow  as  though  dazed,  then  stumbled  out  into  the  room 
beyond. 

"  Gimme  it,  Geoff,  gimme  it !  "  he  panted,  "  you  won't 
keep  it,  no,  no  —  Bud  slipped  it  to  me  after  I  come  to. 
Gimme  it,  Geoff.  I  want  t'  forget  —  so  be  a  sport  an' 
give  it  me  —  you  will,  won't  ye  ?  " 

Ravenslee  shook  his  head,  whereat  the  boy  broke  out 
more  passionately: 

"Oh  —  don't  ye  see,  Geoff  —  can't  ye  understand?  I 
—  I  was  knocked  out  t'night  —  I  took  th'  count !  I  —  I  'm 
done  for,  I  had  me  chance,  an'  I  did  n't  make  good !  I  — 
did  n't  —  make  good !  "  As  he  spoke,  the  lad  hid  his 
bruised  face  within  his  hands,  while  great  sobs  shook  him. 

"  Why,  Spike !  Why,  Arthur,  old  chap  —  never 
mind  —  " 

"  Gimme  th'  bottle,  Geoff !  Be  a  pal  an'  gimme  th' 
stuff  —  I  want  t'  forget !  " 


How  M'Ginnis  Threatened      189 

"  This  would  n't  help  you." 

"  Give  it  me,  d'  ye  hear  —  I  want  it  —  I  '11  have  it,  any 
way  —  I  '11  —  "  Spike's  voice  failed,  and  cowering  back, 
he  sank  into  a  chair  at  sight  of  her  who  stood  within  the 
doorway  so  very  silent  and  pale  of  lip. 

"  Ah,  don't,  Hermy  —  don't  look  at  me  like  that,"  he 
whispered.  "  Your  eyes  hurt  me !  I  ain't  drunk  —  this 
time !  " 

"  Oh,  boy !  "  she  sighed,  "  oh,  boy  —  after  all  your 
promises !  " 

Spike  rose  with  hands  stretched  out  appealingly,  but 
even  so,  he  swayed  slightly,  and  seeing  this,  she  shivered. 

"  Is  it  th'  fightin'  you  mean,  Hermy?  Why,  I  did  it  all 
for  you,  Hermy,  all  for  you  —  I  wanted  t'  be  a  champion 
'cause  all  champions  are  rich.  I  wanted  t'  make  you  a  real 
lady  —  t'  take  you  away  from  Mulligan's  —  but  now  — 
I  'm  only  —  a  *  has-been.'  I  've  lost  me  chance  —  oh, 
Hermy,  I  'm  done  for ;  I  —  oh,  Geoff,  I  —  think  I  '11  — 
go  to  bed." 

So  Ravenslee  set  down  the  flask,  and,  clasping  an  arm 
about  Spike's  swaying  form,  led  him  from  the  room,  while 
Hermione  stood  rigid  and  watched  them  go.  But  when  the 
door  had  closed  behind  them,  she  bowed  her  head  upon  her 
hands  and  sobbed  miserably,  until,  spying  the  half-emptied 
flask  through  her  tears,  she  sprang  forward,  and  snatch 
ing  it  from  the  table,  dashed  it  passionately  to  the  floor. 

"  Oh,  dear  God  of  Heaven !  "  she  whispered,  sinking  to 
her  knees,  "  not  that  way  —  ah,  save  him  from  that  — 
keep  him  from  treading  that  path !  "  With  head  bowed 
upon  her  folded  hands  she  knelt  thus  awhile  until  a  sound 
in  the  passage  aroused  her,  and  rising  to  her  feet,  she 
turned  and  confronted  Bud  M'Ginnis. 

He  stood  upon  the  threshold,  and  though  his  glowing, 
eager  eyes  dwelt  yearningly  upon  her  beauty,  he  made 
no  motion  to  enter  the  room.  Upon  one  cheek  the  skin  was 
torn  and  grazed  from  nose  to  ear,  and  upon  his  powerful 
throat  were  vivid  marks  that  showed  fierce  and  red,  and 
these  seemed  to  worry  him,  for  even  while  he  stared  upon 


190  The  Definite  Object 

her  loveliness,  his  hand  stole  up  to  his  neck,  and  he  touched 
these  glowing  blotches  gently  with  his  fingers. 

"  God,  Hermy,"  said  he  at  last,  "  you  get  more  beauti 
ful  every  day !  " 

She  was  silent,  but  reading  the  fierce  scorn  in  her  eyes, 
he  laughed  softly  and  leaned  nearer.  "  Some  day,  Hermy, 
you  '11  be  —  all  mine !  Oh,  I  can  wait ;  there  's  others,  an' 
you  're  worth  waitin'  for,  I  guess.  But  some  day  you  '11 
come  t'  me  —  you  shall  —  you  must !  Meantime  there  's 
others,  but  some  day  it  '11  be  you  an'  you  only  —  when 
you  're  my  wife.  Ah,  marry  me,  Hermy ;  I  could  give  you 
all  you  want,  an'  there  'd  never  be  any  one  else  for  me  — 
then !  " 

Her  eyes  still  met  his  unflinchingly,  only  she  drew  away 
from  his  nearness,  shivering  a  little;  seeing  which,  he 
frowned  and  clenched  one  hand,  for  the  other  had  wan 
dered  up  to  his  throat  again. 

"  Won't  ye  speak  t'  me?  "  he  demanded  savagely,  then 
shrugging  his  great  shoulders,  he  continued  in  gentler 
tones :  "  I  ain't  here  t'  quarrel,  Hermy ;  I  only  came  t' 
see  if  th'  Kid  got  home  all  right."  Hermione's  firm,  red 
lips  remained  tightly  closed.  "Did  he?"  Hermione 
slowly  inclined  her  head. 

"  Say  now,  Hermy,"  he  went  on,  and  his  voice  grew  al 
most  wheedling,  "  there  was  a  guy  here  the  other  night  — 
a  stranger,  I  guess  —  one  o'  these  tired,  sleepy  guys  — 
one  o'  the  reg'lar  sof t-talkin'  nancy-boys  —  who  is  he  ?  " 
Hermione  only  sighed  wearily,  whereat  his  voice  grew 
hoarse  with  passion,  and  he  questioned  her  fiercely :  "  Who 
is  he,  eh  —  who  is  he?  What  was  he  doin'  around  here, 
anyway?  Well,  can't  ye  talk?  Can't  ye  speak?" 

Hermione  only  looked  at  him,  and  before  those  calm, 
fearless  eyes,  M'Ginnis  burned  in  a  wild  /  yet  impotent 
rage. 

"Won't  talk,  hey?"  he  questioned  between  grinding 
teeth.  "  Well,  now,  see  here,  Hermy.  If  you  let  this  guy 
come  any  love  business  with  you  behind  me  back,  it  '11  be 
his  finish  —  an'  he  can  blame  you  for  it !  An'  see  here 


How  M'Ginnis  Threatened     191 

again  —  watch  out  for  young  Arthur.  Oh !  "  he  cried,  see 
ing  her  flinch,  "  you  think  you  've  got  the  Kid  tied  to 
ye,  you  think  you  've  got  him,  I  guess  —  but  you  ain't ! 
I  've  got  him  —  right  here !  "  and  holding  out  his  hand, 
M'Ginnis  slowly  clenched  it  into  a  fist.  "  I  've  got  th' 
Kid,  see  —  an'  he  's  goin'  th'  way  I  want  him  —  he  's  got 
to,  see?" 

"  Ah !  "  she  cried,  her  scorn  and  fearless  pride  shattered 
to  trembling  pleading  at  last.  "  What  do  you  mean  —  oh, 
what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  mean  as  I  want  ye,  an'  I  'm  goin'  to  have  ye ! "  he 
answered.  "  I  mean  that  instead  of  '  no  '  you  're  goin'  t' 
give  me  *  yes  '  —  for  th'  Kid's  sake !  " 

"  What  do  you  —  mean  ?  "  she  said  again  between  quiv 
ering  lips,  her  eyes  full  of  a  growing  terror. 

"  Mean?  "  he  continued  relentlessly,  viewing  her  trem 
bling  loveliness  with  hungry  eyes.  "  Well  —  that 's  what 
I  mean !  "  and  he  pointed  to  the  broken  flask  upon  the  floor. 
"  If  you  want  t'  see  it  in  his  face  more  an'  more,  if  you 
want  t'  smell  it  in  his  breath  —  say  *  No ! '  If  you  want  t' 
see  his  hands  begin  t'  shake,  if  you  want  t'  hear  his  foot 
come  stumbling  up  th'  stair  —  say  '  No ! '  I  guess  you 
remember  what  it 's  like  —  you  've  seen  it  all  before. 
Well,  if  ye  want  Arthur  t'  grow  into  what  his  drunken 
father  was  before  him  —  say  '  No ! '  " 
"  Go  away !  "  she  moaned,  "  go  away !  " 
"  Oh,  I  '11  go,  but  first  I  '11  tell  you  this  —  " 
"  I  think  not,  Mr.  Flowers  —  no,  I  'm  sure  you  won't !  " 
Ravenslee's  voice  was  soft  and  pleasant  as  usual,  but 
before  the  burning  ferocity  of  his  eyes,  the  merciless  line 
of  that  grim,  implacable  mouth,  before  all  the  hush  and 
deadly  purpose  of  him,  the  loud  hectoring  of  M'Ginnis 
seemed  a  thing  of  no  account.  Beholding  his  pale,  set 
face,,  Hermione,  sighing  deeply,  shrank  away;  even 
MNjinnis  blenched  as,  very  slowly,  Ravenslee  approached 
him,  speaking  softly  the  while. 

"  Get  out,  Mr.  Flowers,  get  out !  Don't  say  another 
word  —  no,  not  one,  if  only  because  of  '  that  dog-gone  fool 


192  The  Definite  Object 

Heine ! '  Now  go,  or  so  help  me  God,  this  time  —  I  '11 
kill  you ! " 

Hermione  leaned  her  trembling  body  against  the  table 
for  support.  And  yet  —  could  it  be  fear  that  had  waked 
this  new  glory  in  her  eyes,  had  brought  this  glowing  colour 
to  her  cheek,  had  made  her  sweet  breath  pant  and  hurry 
so  —  fear? 

M'Ginnis  stood  rigid,  watching  Ravenslee  advance ;  sud 
denly  he  tried  to  speak  yet  uttered  no  word ;  he  raised  a 
fumbling  hand  to  his  bruised  and  swollen  throat,  striving 
again  for  speech  but  choked  instead,  and,  uttering  a 
sound,  hoarse  and  inarticulate,  he  swung  upon  his  heel 
and  strode  blindly  away. 

Then  Ravenslee  turned  to  find  Hermione  sunk  down 
beside  the  table,  her  burning  face  hidden  between  her  arms, 
her  betraying  eyes  fast  shut. 

"  You  are  tired,"  he  said  gently,  "  that  damned  —  er  — 
I  should  say  Mr.  Flowers  and  —  other  unpleasant  things 
have  upset  you,  have  n't  they  ?  " 

Hermione  made  a  motion  of  assent,  and  Ravenslee  con 
tinued,  softer  than  before : 

"  I  wanted  you  to  make  up  your  mind  to  come  away  to 
night,  but  —  I  can't  ask  you  now,  can  I  ?  It  —  it  would  n't 
be  —  er  —  the  thing,  would  it  ?  " 

Hermione  did  n't  answer  or  lift  her  head  and,  stooping 
above  her,  he  saw  how  she  was  trembling;  but  her  eyes 
were  still  fast  shut. 

"  You  —  you  're  not  afraid  —  of  me,  are  you,  Her 
mione?  " 

"  No." 

"  And  you  're  not  —  crying,  are  you  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Then  I'd  —  better  go,  hadn't  I?  To  Mrs.  Trapes 
and  supper  —  stewed  beef,  I  think,  with  —  er  —  carrots 
and  onions  —  " 

Her  head  was  still  bowed,  and  his  tone  was  so  light,  his 
voice  so  lazy,  how  was  she  to  know  that  his  hands  were 
quivering  or  see  how  the  passion  of  his  yearning  was 


How  M'Ginnis  Threatened     193 

shaking  him,  fighting  for  utterance  against  his  iron  will? 
How  was  she  to  know  anything  of  all  this  until,  swiftly, 
lightly,  he  stooped  and  kissed  the  shining  glory  of  her 
hair  ?  In  a  while  she  raised  her  head,  but  then  —  she 
was  alone. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

TELLS   OF  AN   EARLY   MORNING   VISIT  AND   A  WARNING 

RAVENSLEE  dreamed  that  he  was  in  a  wood  —  with  Her- 
mione,  of  course.  She  came  to  him  through  the  leafy 
twilight,  all  aglow  with  youth  and  love,  eager  to  give  her 
self  to  his  embrace.  And  from  her  eyes  love  looked  at  him 
unashamed,  love  touched  him  in  her  soft  caressing  hands, 
came  to  him  in  the  passionate  caress  of  her  scarlet  mouth, 
love  cradled  him  in  the  clasp  of  her  white  arms.  And  the 
sun,  peeping  down  inquisitively  through  the  leaves,  showed 
all  the  beauty  of  her  and  made  a  rippling  splendour  of 
her  hair. 

But  now  the  woodpecker  began  a  tap-tapping  soft  and 
insistent  somewhere  out  of  sight,  a  small  noise  yet  dis 
turbing,  that  followed  them  wheresoever  they  went. 
Thus  they  wandered,  close  entwined,  but  ever  the  wood 
grew  darker  until  they  came  at  last  to  a  mighty  tree 
whose  sombre,  far-flung  branches  shut  out  the  kindly  sun. 
And  lo!  within  this  gloom  the  woodpecker  was  before 
them  —  a  most  persistent  bird,  this,  tap-tapping  louder 
than  ever,  whereat  Hermione,  seized  of  sudden  terror, 
struggled  in  his  embrace  and,  pointing  upward,  cried 
aloud,  and  was  gone  from  him.  Then,  looking  where  she 
had  pointed,  he  beheld  no  woodpecker,  but  the  hated  face 
of  Bud  M'Ginnis  — 

Ravenslee  blinked  drowsily  at  the  wall  where  purple  roses 
bloomed,  at  the  fly-blown  text  in  the  tarnished  frame  with 
its  notable  legend: 

LOVE    ONE    ANOTHER 

and  sighed.  But  in  his  waking  ears  was  the  tap  of  the 
woodpecker,  loud  and  persistent  as  ever!  Wherefore  he 


An  Early  Morning  Visit        195 

started,  stared,  sat  up  suddenly  and,  glancing  toward  the 
window,  beheld  a  large  cap  and  a  pair  of  shoulders  he 
thought  he  recognised. 

"  Why,  Spider !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  what  the  —  " 

"  Sufferin'  Mike !  "  sighed  the  Spider  plaintively,  "  here 
I  've  been  knockin'  at  your  all-fired  winder  —  knockin'  an' 
knockin',  an'  here  you  've  been  snorin'  and  snorin'." 

"  No,  did  I  snore,  Spider?  " 

"  Bo,  you  sure  are  a  bird  for  snorin'." 

"  Damn  it !  "  said  Ravenslee,  frowning,  "  I  must  break 
myself  of  it." 

"  Thinkin'  of  gettin'  married,  bo?  " 

"  Married  ?     What  the  —  " 

"  She  '11  soon  get  useter  it,  I  guess  —  they  all  do !  "  said 
the  unabashed  Spider.  "  Anyway,  if  you  did  n't  snore 
exactly,  you  sure  had  a  strangle  hold  on  the  snooze  busi 
ness,  all  right.  Here  's  me  crawled  out  o'  me  downy  little 
cot  t'  put  ye  wise  t'  Bud's  little  game,  an'  here  's  you 
diggin'  into  the  feathers  t'  beat  th'  band !  " 

"  But  the  window  was  open ;  why  did  n't  you  come  in 
right  away?  " 

"  Not  much,  bo,  I  ain't  the  kind  o'  fool  as  makes  a  habit 
o'  wakin'  your  kind  out  o'  their  beauty  sleep  sudden,  no 
more  I  ain't  a  guy  as  takes  liberties  in  strange  bedrooms, 
see?  " 

"  Well,  come  in,  Spider  —  sit  on  the  bed ;  I  have  n't  a 
chair  to  offer.  By  the  way,  I  have  to  thank  you  —  " 

"Whaffor?" 

"  Breaking  that  window  —  " 

**  Oh,  I  guess  it  was  n't  a  bad  wheeze." 

"  It  gave  me  the  chance  I  wanted,  Spider." 

"  Which  you  sure  gripped  with  both  mitts,  bo !  " 

"  Now  have  a  cigar  —  in  that  coat  pocket  —  " 

"  Not  me,  Geoff !  Smoke  's  bad  for  th'  wind,  that 's 
why  I  've  took  t'  gum."  Saying  which,  the  Spider  pro 
ceeded  to  take  out  and  open  a  packet  of  that  necessary 
adjunct,  and  having  posted  it  into  his  mouth  piece  by 
piece,  fell  to  grim  mastication. 


196  The  Definite  Object 

"  Bo,"  said  he  suddenly,  "  you  come  away  without  your 
roof  last  night." 

"  Eh?  "  said  Ravenslee,  blinking  drowsily,  "  my  what?  " 

"  Your  lid,  bo." 

"  You  mean  my  old  hat?  " 

"  That 's  what  I  'm  tryin'  t'  tell  you  —  an'  say,  that 
sure  is  the  hardest  bean  cover  I  ever  spotted;  made  of 
iron,  is  it?  Where  'd  you  find  it?  " 

"  At  some  dim  and  distant  day  it  originated  in  England, 
I  believe." 

"  Well,  that  lid  would  turn  a  poleaxe,  sure ;  that 's  why 
I  brought  it  back  —  it 's  out  on  the  fire  escape  now." 

"  Very  kind  of  you,  Spider,  but  —  " 

"  Bo,  you  're  goin'  t'  need  that  hat  an'  a  soot  o'  tin 
underwear  from  now  on  unless  —  well,  unless  you  pack  y'r 
trunk  an'  clear  out  o'  Hell's  Kitchen  on  th'  jump." 

"Why  so?" 

"  Well,  you  certainly  handed  Bud  a  whole  lot  more  'n 
he  's  ever  had  before,  an'  it 's  a  full  house  to  a  pair  o' 
dooces  he  ain't  lookin'  for  no  more  from  you  just  yet. 
But  then,  Bud  ain't  no  pet  lamb  nor  yet  a  peace  confer 
ence,  an'  it 's  four  aces  to  a  bum-flush  he  means  t'  get 
back  at  ye  some  way  —  an'  get  ye  good !  " 

"  Oh?  "  said  Ravenslee,  yawning. 

"  And  oh  some  more !  "  nodded  the  Spider ;  "  it 's  sure 
comin'  t'  you.  When  I  got  back  las'  night,  there  's  Bud 
lettin'  against  th'  wall  lookin'  like  an  exhibit  from  the 
morgue,  fightin'  for  breath  t'  cuss  you  with.  'N'  say,  you 
sure  had  done  him  up  some,  which  I  was  n't  nowise  sad  or 
peeved  about,  no,  sir !  Me  an'  Bud  's  never  been  what  you 
might  call  real  kittenish  an'  playful  together.  But  it 
seems  you  ain't  only  soaked  an'  throttled  him  good  an' 
plenty,  but  he  's  gone  an'  let  out  t'  you  about  that  guy 
Heine  —  an'  consequently  you  've  gotter  be  kept  from 
opening  y'r  mouth  —  see  ?  Consequently  it 's  you  for  a 
sudden  an'  hasty  hike." 

"  Oh?  "  said  Ravenslee  again. 

"  Twice !  "  nodded  the  Spider,  "  with  a  F  an'  a  L  thrown 


An  Early  Morning  Visit       197 

in  —  that 's  what  you  '11  be,  Geoff,  if  you  try  t'  buck  Bud 
an'  th'  gang.  So  here  I  've  shinnied  up  y'r  fire  escape  to 
put  ye  wise  an'  lend  a  hand  to  make  your  swift  get-away." 

Ravenslee  sighed  and  settled  his  head  more  comfortably 
on  his  pillow.  "  You  think  I  ought  to  go,  Spider?  " 

"  I  don't  think  —  I  know !  Your  number  's  up,  Geoff 
—  it 's  you  against  th'  field,  an',  bo  —  they  're  some  field !" 

"  You  think  there  's  real  danger,  then?  "  enquired  Ra 
venslee,  staring  up  at  the  fly-blown  text  with  shining  eyes. 

"  As  real  as  —  death,  bo !  " 

"  Not  so  long  ago  I  regarded  Death  as  my  best 
friend  —  " 

"  How  much?  "  demanded  the  Spider,  suspending  mas 
tication. 

"  Nothing,  Spider,  a  mere  passing  thought." 

"  Well,  I  'm  tellin'  ye  they  '11  get  ye  sure  —  it  '11  be  th' 
water  or  a  forty-four  bullet,  or  a  blackjack  or  a  knife  — 
but  you  '11  get  it  one  way  or  another !  " 

"  Sounds  cheering !  " 

"  An'  it  ain't  over-pleasant  t'  be  sandbagged." 

"  No,  Spider." 

"  Nor  t'  feel  a  lead  pipe  wrapped  round  th'  back  o'  y'r 
bean." 

"  No  indeed,  Spider." 

"  Nor  yet  t'  feel  a  stiletta  diggin'  between  y'r  shoul 
ders  or  over  y'r  collar  bone." 

"  Worst  of  all,  Spider." 

"  Well,  you  'd  best  pack  y'r  little  trunk  an'  fade  away, 
bo !  "  Ravenslee  sat  up  suddenly  and  looked  at  tiie  Spider 
with  eyes  very  bright  and  wide. 

"  Not  for  all  the  gangs  that  ever  ganged ! "  said  he 
softly. 

"  Eh  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Spider,  staring,  "  what 's  yer 
game?  " 

"  I  'm  going  to  try  to  buck  this  gang  clean  out  of 
existence." 

"You  are,  eh?" 

"  I  am." 


198  The  Definite  Object 

"  Bo,"  sighed  the  Spider,  shaking  his  head,  "  you  ain't 
a  ordinary  fool  —  you  're  a  damned  fool !  " 

"  And  you  're  going  to  help  me,  Spider !  " 

"Not  me,  bo,  not  me  —  I'm  only  just  an  ordinary 
fool!" 

"  Well,  we  '11  let  it  go  at  that !  "  said  Ravenslee,  and 
lying  back,  he  yawned  again. 

"  Don't  do  that,  bo,  don't  do  that !  "  exclaimed  the 
Spider.  "  I  'm  thinkin'  what  you  '11  look  like  after  you  've 
been  floatin'  around  in  th'  river  —  a  week,  say !  You  'd 
best  get  out  o'  Hell's  Kitchen,  bo  —  don't  stop  to  ask  where 
to,  but  —  go  there." 

"  My  Spider,"  said  Ravenslee,  shaking  his  head,  "  in 
Hell's  Kitchen  I  should  have  to  leave  all  that  makes  life 
worth  while,  so  —  I  shall  stay,  of  course,  and  chance  the 
—  er  —  river  and  things." 

"  Well,  I  guess  it 's  your  trouble,  not  mine." 

"  But  I  want  it  to  be  yours  too,  Spider.  You  see,  I  'm 
counting  on  you  to  help  me  smash  this  gang." 

"  Bo,  it  looks  like  you  're  goin'  t'  do  a  hell  of  a  lot  o' 
countin'  —  an'  then  some  more,  before  you  count  me  in 
on  this  fool  game.  Say  "  —  he  paused  to  stare  at  Ra 
venslee,  keen-eyed  and  with  j  aws  clamped  rigid  —  "  you 
ain't  a  fly-cop  —  one  o'  these  sleuthy  gum-shoe  men,  are 

ye?" 

"  No." 

"  Well,  you  ain't  one  o'  these  fool  amateur  guys  doin' 
the  dare-devil  detective  act  like  you  read  about  in  th' 
magazines,  are  ye?  " 

"  No  more  than  you  are  one  of  these  dirty  gang  loafers 
you  hear  about  around  O'Rourke's  —  and  that 's  why 
you  're  going  to  help  me  root  'em  out." 

"  Sufferm'  Pete !  "  sighed  the  Spider,  "  here  I  keep  tellin' 
you  I  ain't  on  in  this  act,  an'  here  you  keep  on  ringin' 
me  in  frequent  all  the  same." 

"  Because  you  are  a  man,  Spider  Connolly,  and  white  all 
through,  and  because  to  smash  up  this  gang  is  going  to 
be  man's  work." 


An  Early  Morning  Visit        199 

"  Well,  it  sure  ain't  no  job  for  Sophy  the  Satin-skinned 
Show-girl  —  nor  yet  for  two  nice,  quiet  little  fellers  like 
you  an'  me." 

"  We  shan't  be  quite  alone,  Spider." 

"  That 's  some  comfortin',  anyway !  " 

"  There  will  be  Joe  Madden,  for  one." 

"  Joe  Mad  —  "  The  Spider  very  nearly  bolted  his  wad 
of  chewing  gum,  then  he  rose  and  stood  staring  at  Ra- 
venslee,  very  round  of  eye.  "  So  you  know  Joe  Madden, 
the  best  all-round  champion  that  ever  happened,  eh?  " 

"  I  box  with  him  every  day." 

"  Hully  Chee !  "  exclaimed  the  Spider,  and  chewed  fer 
vently  in  silent  astonishment.  Suddenly  he  lifted  his  head 
and  stood  as  one  that  hearkens  to  distant  sounds,  and 
crossing  stealthily  to  the  window,  climbed  out. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"  Mother  Trapes,  bo.  She  's  just  rollin'  out  o'  th' 
feathers,  an'  she  's  quite  enough  for  me  —  always  has  me 
fazed  to  a  frazzle.  If  she  caught  me  here  it  'ud  be  th' 
gimlet  eye  for  mine  —  so  here  's  where  I  fade  away." 

"  Anyway,  come  and  have  tea  here  with  me  to-night, 
Spider,  unless  you  think  I  am  —  er  —  too  dangerous  to 
visit  just  now  on  account  of  M'Ginnis  —  " 

"  Dangerous  ?  "  repeated  the  Spider,  scowling,  "  bo, 
when  I  get  a  call  t'  free  food  with  a  guy  like  you,  danger 
gets  lost  in  th'  shuffle  an'  forgotten  —  I  '11  be  there.  Now 
here  's  your  bean  cover  —  catch  !  S'  long !  "  And  nod 
ding,  Spider  promptly  vanished  down  the  fire  escape. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

CHIEFLY    CONCERNING    A    LETTER 

"  SUNDAY,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes  sententiously,  "  Sunday  is 
a  holy  day  t'  some  folks  an'  a  holiday  for  other  folks,  but 
t'  folks  like  me  an'  Hermy  it  sure  ain't  no  day  of  rest  an' 
gladness  —  like  the  hymn  book  says." 

"  Is  n't  it  ?  "  said  Ravenslee,  pushing  away  his  coffee 
cup  and  glancing  toward  the  loud-ticking  clock  upon  the 
sideboard. 

"  It  sure  ain't ! "  nodded  Mrs.  Trapes,  quick  to  note 
the  look.  "  Hermy  an'  me  ain't  much  given  to  Sunday  ob 
servance,  Mr.  Geoffrey.  Y'  see,  there  's  always  meals  t'  be 
cooked  an'  washin'  up  t'  be  done,  an'  clo'es  t'  be  mended 
p'raps.  I  've  darned  many  a  'eartfelt  prayer  into  a  wore- 
out  pair  o'  stockin's  before  now  an'  offered  up  many  a 
petition  t'  the  Throne  o'  grace  with  my  scrubbin'  brush 
sloshin'  over  the  floor.  Anyway,  Hermy  'n'  me  ain't  never 
had  much  time  for  church-goin'  or  prayer  meetin's  or 
mindin'  our  souls  in  our  best  frocks  an'  bonnets  —  no,  sir ! 
We  jest  have  t'  get  on  with  our  work  —  sewin'  an'  cookin' 
an'  washin'  —  mindin'  the  welfare  of  other  folks'  bodies. 
So  while  them  as  has  time  an'  inclination  sing  their  praises 
t'  the  Lord  on  their  knees,  Hermy  an'  me  take  out  our 
praises  in  work,  an'  have  t'  leave  our  souls  t'  God  an'  — 
oh,  well,  I  guess  he  '11  take  care  of  'em  all  right  —  don't 
y'  think?  " 

"  I  certainly  do !  "  nodded  Ravenslee. 

"  O'  course,  my  soul  ain't  all  it  should  be  —  a  bit  stained 
here  an'  there,  p'raps  —  a  bit  th'  worse  for  wear,  Mr. 
Geoffrey,  but  Hermy's  —  well,  there,  I  guess  it's  jest  as 
sweet  as  a  flower  still,  an'  white  —  as  white  as  that  table- 


Concerning  a  Letter          201 

cloth.  An'  talkin'  about  her  soul  —  what  about  her  body, 
Mr.  Geoffrey?  " 

Ravenslee  started.  "  Her  body  ?  "  said  he,  staring. 
"  Well,  since  you  ask,  I  should  say  it  is  like  her  soul  — 
very  sweet  and  white  and  —  " 

"  Sure !  "  nodded  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  but,  bein'  only  flesh  an' 
blood  after  all  —  bein'  only  miserable  clay  like  yours  an' 
mine,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  it  '11  always  need  food  t'  nourish  it, 
clo'es  t'  keep  it  warm,  an'  a  roof  t'  shelter  it.  Well,  if 
she  was  t'  be  s'  mad  as  t'  marry  a  peanut  man,  what  about 
food  an'  clo'es  an'  a  roof?  " 

"  I  think  they  could  be  managed,  Mrs.  Trapes." 

"  What  —  out  o'  peanuts?  " 

"  No  —  er  —  the  fact  is,  I  've  given  'em  up." 

Mrs.  Trapes  sniffed.  "  Y'  don't  say !  "  she  remarked 
drily.  "  Think  o'  that,  now !  " 

"  The  fact  is,  Mrs.  Trapes,  I  —  well,  suppose  I  were  to 
confess  to  you  that  I  'm  not  quite  so  poor  as  I  seem  — 
what  should  you  say?  " 

"  Why,  I  should  say  as  I  knew  that  about  three  weeks 
ago,  Mr.  Geoffrey." 

"  Oh,  did  you?  "  said  Ravenslee,  staring.  "  How  in 
the  world  did  you  find  out?  " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  I  '11  tell  ye  how.  I  got  eyes  an' 
I  got  ears,  an'  sometimes  I  can  see  a  bit  with  my  eyes  an' 
hear  with  my  ears  —  that 's  how !  Oh,  I  've  watched  ye, 
Mr.  Geoffrey  —  I  've  watched  ye  careful  because  —  well, 
because  I  sure  love  Hermy,  an'  't  would  jest  break  my 
'eart  t'  see  her  fallin'  in  love  with  a  rogue !  " 

"  So  you  think  —  that  she  is  —  falling  in  love,  then  ?  " 
enquired  Ravenslee  slowly. 

"  Well,  Hermy  's  Hermy,  an'  she  's  wrote  you  two  letters 
to  my  knowin'  —  " 

"  No,  only  one,  Mrs.  Trapes." 

"  Now  Hermy  ain't  the  kind  o'  girl  t'  write  twice  to  a 
man  unless  —  " 

"  But  she  has  only  written  me  one  letter,  Mrs.  Trapes 
—  the  one  she  left  with  you  last  week." 


202  The  Definite  Object 

"  Oh,  well  —  here  's  the  other !  "  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  lay 
ing  before  him  an  envelope  addressed  in  the  handwriting 
he  had  come  to  know  so  well. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  give  it  to  me  before  ?  "  he  enquired. 

"  Her  orders,  Mr.  Geoffrey." 

"Orders?" 

"  Orders !  "  nodded  Mrs.  Trapes.  "  She  come  in  here 
last  night  an'  give  it  me  after  you  was  gone  t'  bed. 
'  Ann  dear,'  she  says,  '  don't  let  him  have  it  till  half  after- 
ten  t'  morrer,'  she  says.  An'  it 's  nearly  eleven  now  —  so 
there  's  y'r  letter !  " 

"  But,"  said  Ravenslee,  "  why  on  earth  —  " 

"  P'raps  th'  letter  '11  tell  you,  Mr.  Geoffrey ;  s'pose 
you  read  it  while  I  clear  away  your  breakfast  things !  " 

Hereupon  Ravenslee  opened  the  letter  and  read  these 
words : 

MY  DEAR, 

It  would  be  my  joy  to  trust  myself  to  you  utterly,  to 
go  with  you  to  the  world's  end  if  you  would  have  it  so. 
Only  I  'm  afraid  that  I  am  not  quite  what  you  would 
have  me.  I  'm  afraid  that  I  might  sometimes  do  things 
that  would  remind  you  that  I  had  been  only  a  scrubwoman. 
I  'm  afraid  that  some  day  you  might  regret.  Were  I  to 
answer  you  now,  I  should  answer  you  selfishly  —  so, 
please,  you  must  give  me  time  to  think,  for  both  our 
sakes.  Love  has  never  come  near  me  before,  and  now  I  am 
a  little  afraid,  for  love  is  not  little  and  tender  and  babyish, 
but  great  and  strong  and  very  fierce  and  masterful  — 
that  is  why  I  am  afraid  of  it.  So  I  must  go  away  from  you, 
from  the  sound  of  your  voice,  the  touch  of  your  hand  — 
to  think  it  all  out.  My  work  will  take  me  to  Englewood 
to-morrow,  and  I  want  you  to  wait  for  your  answer  until 
I  come  back,  for  then  I  shall  have  decided  one  way  or  the 
other.  But  in  Englewood  the  memory  of  your  words  will 
be  with  me  still  —  oh,  did  you  mean  all,  quite  all  you 
said,  and  did  you  say  quite  all  you  meant  to  say  —  did 
you?  Did  you?  For  indeed  it  has  seemed  to  me  that  if 


Concerning  a  Letter  203 

you  really  meant  all  you  said  you  might  have  said  a  little 
more  —  just  a  little  more.  This  is  a  dreadfully  long  letter 
and  very  badly  expressed,  I  know,  but  I  dare  not  read  it 
through.  But  what  I  have  written  is  written  from  my 
heart. 

HEEMIONE. 
P.S.     I  shall  be  in  Englewood  three  whole  days. 

"  Will  strawberry  j  am  an'  angel  cake  an'  a  bunch  or  so 
o'  water  cress  be  enough,  Mr.  Geoffrey?  " 

Ravenslee  sat  staring  down  at  the  letter,  rubbing  his 
square,  fresh-shaven  chin  as  one  very  much  at  a  loss. 

"  *  Might  have  said  a  little  more  —  just  a  little  more,' ' 
he  muttered,  his  gaze  focussed  upon  a  certain  line. 

"  Will  water  cress  an'  angel  cake  an'  a  pot  o'  strawberry 
jam  soot,  Mr.  Geoffrey?  " 

"  Now  I  wonder  what  the  dickens  she  can  mean?  "  mused 
Ravenslee. 

"  She  means  jest  strawberry  jam  an'  angel  cake  an' 
water  cress,  fer  tea  —  fer  your  visitors,"  said  Mrs. 
Trapes,  with  a  patient  sigh. 

"  Visitors !  "  repeated  Ravenslee,  glancing  up.  "  Why, 
yes,  they  '11  be  here  about  four  o'clock." 

"  An'  will  water  cress  an'  angel  cake  an'  —  " 

"  Quite  enough !  Certainly !  Admirable !  "  exclaimed 
Ravenslee.  "  But  what  beats  me,"  he  continued,  staring 
down  at  the  letter  again,  "  is  what  she  can  mean  by  writing 
this." 

"  Not  knowin'  what  she  's  wrote,  I  can't  say." 

"  Mrs.  Trapes,  I  know  you  are  Hermione's  best  and 
staunchest  friend,  and  lately  I  have  ventured  to  hope  you 
are  mine  too.  As  such,  I  want  you  to  read  this  letter  — 
see  if  you  can  explain  it !  " 

So  Mrs.  Trapes  took  the  letter ;  and  when  she  had  read 
it  through,  folded  it  together  with  hands  very  gentle  and 
reverent  and  stood  awhile  staring  out  into  the  sunlit  court. 

"  My  land !  "  she  said  at  last,  her  harsh  voice  grown 
almost  soft,  "  love  's  a  wonderful  thing,  I  reckon.  No 


204          The  Definite  Object 

wonder  your  eyes  shine  so.  Yes,  love  's  a  great  an'  won 
derful  thing  — •-  my  land !  " 

"  But  can  you  explain,"  said  Ravenslee,  as  he  took 
back  the  letter,  "  can  you  tell  me  what  she  means  by  —  " 

"  Shucks,  Mr.  Geoffrey !  That  sure  don't  want  no  ex- 
plainin'.  When  you  said  all  you  did  say  to  her,  did  y'  say 
anything  about  *  wife  '  or  *  marriage'?" 

"Why,  of  course  I  did!" 

"  Sure? " 

"  Yes  —  er  —  that  is  —  I  think  so." 

"Not  sure  then?" 

"  Well,  I  may  have  done  so  —  I  must  have  done  so,  but 
really  I  —  er  —  forget  —  " 

"  Forget !  "  Mrs.  Trapes  snorted.  "  Now  look-a-here, 
Mr.  Geoffrey,  what  d'  ye  want  with  Hermy ;  is  it  a  wife 
you  're  after  or  only  —  " 

"  Mrs.  Trapes !  "  Ravenslee  was  upon  his  feet,  and  be 
fore  the  sudden  glare  in  his  eyes  Mrs.  Trapes  gaped  and 
for  once  fell  silent.  "  Mrs.  Trapes,"  said  he,  still  frown 
ing  a  little,  "  really  you  —  you  almost  —  made  me  angry." 

"  My  land !  "  said  she,  "  I  'm  kind  o'  glad  I  did  n't  — 
quite !  "  and  her  sniff  was  eloquent. 

"  You  see,"  he  went  on,  glancing  down  at  the  letter 
again,  "  I  've  learned  to  love  and  reverence  her  so  much 
that  your  suggestion  —  hurt  rather !  " 

"  Why,  then,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  I  'm  sorry.  But  if  your 
love  is  so  big  an'  true  as  all  that  —  if  you  want  her  t'  be 
a  wife  t'  you  —  why  in  the  'tarnal  did  n't  ye  speak  out 
an'  tell  her  so?  " 

"  I  '11  go  and  tell  her  so  this  minute." 

"  Y'  can't !  She  's  gone  t'  Bronx  Park  with  that  b'y, 
'n'  won't  be  back  all  day." 

"  Damn !  "  exclaimed  Ravenslee. 

"  Sure !  "  nodded  Mrs.  Trapes.  "  Keep  on,  it  '11  do  ye 
good.  But  anyway,  what  y'  got  t'  say  '11  keep,  I  guess  — 
it  '11  gush  out  all  the  stronger  fer  bein'  bottled  up  a  day 
or  two." 

"  I  can  write !  "  he  suggested. 


Concerning  a  Letter  205 

"  You  can  —  but  you  won't  —  you  '11  tell  her  with  your 
two  lips  —  a  woman  likes  it  better  spoke  —  if  spoke 
proper  —  I  should !  With  arms  entwined  an'  eyes  lookin' 
into  eyes  an'  —  oh,  shucks !  Will  angel  cake  an'  straw 
berry  j  am  —  " 

"  They  '11  be  ample,  and  —  thank  you,  dear  Mrs. 
Trapes !  " 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

HOW  THE  OLD  UN  AND  CERTAIN  OTHERS  HAD  TEA 

"  OLD  UN,"  said  Joe,  halting  his  aged  companion  in  the 
middle  of  the  second  flight  to  wag  a  portentous  finger, 
"  Old  Un,  mind  this  now  —  if  there  should  'appen  to  be 
cake  for  tea,  don't  go  makin'  a  ancient  beast  of  yourself 
with  it  —  no  slippin'  lumps  of  it  into  your  pocket  on  the 
sly,  mind,  because  if  I  ketch  ye  at  it  —  " 

"  Don't  be  'arsh,  Joe,  don't  be  'arsh !  Cake  comes  soft 
t'  me  pore  old  teef." 

"  An'  mind  this  again  —  if  there  should  be  any  j  am 
about,  no  stickin'  ye  wicked  old  fingers  into  it  an'  lickin' 
'em  behind  my  back." 

"  You  lemme  an'  the  jam  alone,  Joe;  it 's  a  free  country, 
ain't  it?  —  very  well,  then !  " 

"  Free  country  be  blowed !  You  mind  what  I  say,  you 
venerable  old  bag  of  iniquity,  you !  " 

"  'Niquity  yerself !  "  snarled  the  Old  Un,  and  snapping 
bony  finger  and  thumb  under  Joe's  massive  chin,  turned 
and  went  on  up  the  stairs,  his  smart  straw  hat  cocked 
at  a  defiant  angle,  his  brilliant  shoes  creaking  loudly  at 
every  step. 

"  Oh,  Gorramighty ! "  he  panted,  halting  suddenly  on 
the  fifth  landing  to  get  his  breath,  "  these  perishin'  stairs 
'as  ketched  my  wind,  Joe ;  it 's  worse  'n  th'  treadmill !  Is 
there  many  more  of  'em?  " 

"  Only  six  flights ! "  nodded  Joe  grimly. 

"  Six !  "  wailed  the  Old  Un.  "  Lord  —  it  '11  be  the  death 
o'me!" 

"  Well,  it 's  about  time  you  was  dead,"  nodded  Joe. 


The  Old  Un  Had  Tea        207 

"  Dead  ye'self !  "  snarled  the  old  man.  "  I  'm  a  better 
of  a  man  than  ever  you  was  —  " 

"  An'  you  would  come,"  continued  Joe  serenely,  as  he 
deftly  resettled  the  old  fellow's  sporty  bow-tie.  "  You 
fair  plagued  me  to  bring  ye  along,  did  n't  ye,  old  packet 
o'  vindictiveness?  " 

"  Well,  an'  here  I  am,  Joe,  an'  here  I  mean  t'  stay  — 
no  more  climbin'  fer  me ;  I  'm  tired,  me  lad,  tired !  "  Say 
ing  which,  the  Old  Un  spread  his  handkerchief  on  a  con 
venient  stair  and  proceeded  to  seat  himself  thereon  with 
due  regard  for  his  immaculately  creased  trousers. 

"  Well,"  growled  Joe,  "  of  all  the  perverse  old  raspers 
that  ever  I  did  see  —  " 

"  That 's  enough,  Joe,  that 's  enough !  "  exclaimed  the 
Old  Un,  fanning  himself  with  his  rakish  hat.  "  Jest  bend 
down  and  flick  the  dust  off  me  shoes  with  your  wipe,  like 
a  good  lad,  will  ye  ?  That 's  the  worst  o'  these  'ere  patent 
leathers;  they  looks  well,  but  they  sure  ketches  th'  dust, 
Joe,  they  ketches  the  dust  oncommon  bad.  So  jest  give  'em 
a  flick  over  —  me  pore  old  back  's  too  stiff  t'  let  me  reach 
'em,  what  wi'  me  rheumatiz  an'  a  floatin'  kidney  or  so  —  " 

"  "Kidneys  !  "  snarled  Joe,  drawing  out  a  large  bandanna 
handkerchief  and  polishing  the  old  man's  natty  shoes  until 
they  shone  resplendent.  "  What 's  the  matter  with  ye 
blessed  kidneys  now?  " 

"  Don't  I  tell  ye  —  they  floats,  Joe,  they  floats !  " 

"  Float !  "  growled  Joe.    "  Float  —  where  to  ?  " 

"'Ere,  there,  an'  everywhere,  Joe,  I  can  feel  'em! 
They  're  always  a-gettin'  theirselves  all  mixed  up  any'ow. 
Oh,  it 's  an  'orrible  complaint  to  'ave  kidneys  like  mine 
as  gets  theirselves  lost." 

"  Wish  they  'd  lose  you  along  with  'em !  "  growled  Joe, 
shaking  the  dust  from  his  handkerchief. 

"  Joe,"  said  the  old  man,  putting  on  his  hat  and  blink 
ing  up  at  him  beneath  its  jaunty  brim,  "  Joe,  sometimes 
I  fair  despise  ye !  " 

"  Well,  despise  away,"  nodded  Joe,  "  only  get  up  — 
stand  up  on  them  doddering  old  pins  o'  yourn." 


208          The  Definite  Object 

"Not  me!"  declared  the  Old  Un,  "I  ain't  goin'  to 
climb  no  more  o'  these  perishin'  stairs  —  no,  not  for  you 
nor  nobody.  'Ere  I  am,  me  lad,  an'  'ere  I  sits  till  you 
give  me  a  piggy-back  up  to  the  top  —  me  bein'  a  pore  old 
cove  with  rheumatiz.  I  demands  it  —  " 

"  You  '11  what? "  growled  Joe,  hard-breathing  and 
indignant. 

"  Demand  it,  Joe  —  a  pore  old  feller  wi'  kidneys  —  an' 
every  other  ailment  as  flesh  is  hair  to  —  a  piggy-back, 
Joe  —  a  piggy-back !  " 

Without  another  word  Joe  stooped,  and  lifting  the  old 
man  beneath  one  arm,  bore  him  up  the  stairs  regardless 
of  his  croaking  protestations  and  fierce  invective. 

"  I  said  a  piggy-back  —  oh,  you  blightin'  perisher,  I 
said  a  piggy-back,"  he  snarled,  his  resplendent  shoes 
twinkling  in  futile  kicks.  "  Oh,  Joe,  there  's  times  when 
I  fair  'ates  ye !  " 

Thus,  despite  virulent  curses  and  feeble  kickings,  Joe 
bore  him  on  and  up  until,  as  he  climbed  the  last  flight,  he 
was  arrested  by  an  exclamation  from  above,  and  glancing 
upward,  beheld  a  tall,  sharp-featured  woman  who  leaned 
over  the  rail. 

"  Oh,  land  o'  my  fathers ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trapes, 
"  what 's  the  matter — what  you  got  there?  Who  are  ye?  " 

"  The  matter,  ma'am,"  answered  Joe,  for  by  this  time 
the  Old  Un  had  cursed  himself  quite  breathless,  "  the  mat 
ter  's  contrariness ;  what  I  'ave  under  my  arm,  ma'am,  is  a 
old  reprobate,  and  I  'm  Joe  Madden,  ma'am,  come  to  take 
tea  with  my  —  come,  as  you  might  say,  a  visiting  to  Mr. 
Geoffrey ;  p'raps  you  '11  — " 

"  Don't  'eed  'im,  ma'am  —  never  'eed  'im !  "  croaked  the 
Old  Un,  who  had  regained  his  wind  by  now.  "  'E  's  a 
perishin'  pork  pig,  that 's  wot  'e  is.  Joe,  you  blighter, 
put  me  down.  It 's  me  as  the  Guv  expects  —  it 's  me  as 
'as  come  a-visitin'  —  Joe,  put  me  down,  you  perisher. 
Joe  's  only  a  hoaf,  ma'am,  a  nass,  ma'am.  Joe  ain't  used 
to  perlite  serciety,  Joe  don't  know  nothin'  —  put  me 
down,  Joe,  like  a  good  lad !  " 


The  Old  Un  Had  Tea        209 

At  this  juncture  Ravenslee  appeared,  whereupon  Joe, 
having  reached  the  topmost  landing,  set  the  old  man  upon 
his  natty  feet  and  fell  to  straightening  his  smart  clothes 
with  hands  big  but  gentle. 

"  Sir,"  explained  Joe,  answering  Ravenslee's  smiling 
look,  "  Old  Sin  an'  Sorrer  here  would  n't  walk  up,  which 
forced  me  to  — 

But  now  the  Old  Un,  feeling  himself  again,  cut  in  on 
his  own  account.  "  Ma'am,"  said  he,  flourishing  off  his 
hat  to  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  'ere  's  me  an'  me  lad  Joe  come  to 
tea  —  my  best  respex  an'  greetin's,  ma'am.  How  do, 
Guv?  I  do  'ope  as  you  ain't  forgot  th'  cake." 

"  Oh,  we  've  plenty  of  cake,  Old  Un !  "  laughed  Ra 
venslee. 

"  An'  water  cress  an'  jam!  "  nodded  Mrs.  Trapes. 

"  Guv,"  said  the  old  man,  gripping  Ravenslee's  hand, 
"  God  bless  ye  for  a  true  man  an'  a  noble  sport.  Ma'am, 
you  're  a  angel !  Jam,  ma'am  —  you  're  a  nymp'  — 
you  're  two  nymp's  — 

'I  oft  would  cast  a  rovin'  eye 
Ere  these  white  'airs  I  grew,  ma'am. 
To  see  a  'andsome  nymp'  go  by, 
But  none  s'  fair  as  you,  ma'am.' 

An'  there  's  me  hand  on  it,  ma'am." 

"  My  land!  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Trapes,  staring;  then  all 
at  once  she  laughed,  a  strange  laugh  that  came  and  went 
again  immediately,  yet  left  her  features  a  little  less  grim 
than  usual,  as,  reaching  out,  she  grasped  the  old  man's 
feeble  hand. 

"  I  guess  you  're  only  bein'  p'lite,"  said  she,  "  but  jest 
for  that  you  're  sure  goin'  t'  eat  as  much  cake  an'  j  am 
as  your  small  insides  can  hold."  So  saying,  she  led  the 
way  into  her  small  and  very  neat  domain  and  ushered 
them  into  the  bright  little  parlour  where  the  Spider  sat 
already  enthroned  in  that  armchair  whereon  sunflowers 
rioted.  Like  the  chair,  the  Spider  was  somewhat  exotic  as 
to  socks  and  tie,  and  he  seemed  a  trifle  irked  by  stiff  cuffs 


2io          The  Definite  Object 

and  collar  as  he  sat  staring  at  the  green  and  yellow  table 
cloth  and  doing  his  best  not  to  tread  upon  the  pink 
hearthrug. 

"  Joe,"  said  Ravenslee,  "  this  is  Spider  Connolly,  who 
knocked  out  Larry  McKinnon  at  San  Francisco  last  year 
in  the  sixty-ninth.  Spider,  I  want  you  to  shake  hands 
with  —  " 

"  Bo,"  exclaimed  the  Spider,  rising  reverently  and  tak 
ing  a  step  toward  Joe's  massive  figure,  quite  forgetful  of 
the  pink  hearthrug  now,  "  you  don't  have  t'  tell  me  nothin'. 
I  guess  I  know  th'  best  all-round  fightin'  man,  the  greatest 
champion  as  ever  swung  a  mitt,  when  I  see  him !  T'  shake 
his  hand  '11  sure  be  —  " 

"  Young  feller,  me  lad,"  cried  the  Old  Un,  reaching  out 
nimbly  and  catching  the  Spider's  extended  hand,  "  you 
got  a  sharp  eye,  a  true  eye  —  a  eye  as  can  discrimpinate, 
like  —  ah,  like  a  flash  o'  light.  You  're  right,  me  lad,  I 
was  the  best  fightin'  man,  the  greatest  champeen  as  ever 
was  —  sixty  odd  years  ago.  Ho,  yus,  I  were  the  best 
of  'em  all,  an'  I  ain't  t'  be  sniffed  at  now.  So  shake  me 
'and,  me  lad  —  an'  shake  —  hard !  " 

The  Spider's  grim  jaw  relaxed,  and  his  eyes  opened 
very  wide  as  the  Old  Un  continued  to  shake  his  hand  up 
and  down. 

"  But,  say,"  said  he  faintly  at  last,  "  I  don't  —  " 

"  No  more  don't  I,"  nodded  the  Old  Un,  "  what 's  the 
old  song  say: 

'  I  don't  care  if  it  rains  or  snows 
Or  what  the  day  may  be 
Since  'ere  's  a  truth  I  plainly  knows 
Love,  you  '11  remember  me.'  " 

"  But  say,"  began  the  bewildered  Spider  again.  "  Say, 
I  reckon  —  " 

"  So  do  I,"  nodded  the  Old  Un: 

'  I  reckon  up  my  years  o'  life 
An'  a  good  long  life  'ave  I. 
Ye  see,  I  never  had  a  wife. 
P'raps  that 's  the  reason  why.' 


The  Old  Un  Had  Tea        2  1 1 

So  take  it  from  me,  young  feller,  me  cove,  don't  'ave  nothin' 
to  do  with  givin'  or  takin'  in  marriage." 

"  Marriage?  " 

"  Marriage  ain't  good  for  a  fightin'  cove  —  it  spiles 
him,  it  shakes  'is  nerve,  it  fair  ruinates  'im.  When  love 
flies  in  at  the  winder,  champeenships  fly  up  the  chimbley 
—  never  t'  come  back  no  more.  So  beware  o*  wives,  me 
lad." 

"  Wives !  "  repeated  the  Spider,  lifting  free  hand  to 
dazed  brow,  "I  —  I  ain't  never  —  " 

"  That 's  right !  "  nodded  the  Old  Un  heartily,  shaking 
the  Spider's  unresisting  hand  again,  "  marriage  ain't  love, 
an'  love  ain't  marriage.  Wot 's  the  old  song  say : 

'Oh,  love  is  like  a  bloomin'  rose 

But  marriage  is  a  bloomin'  thorn. 

An  'usband  's  full  o'  bloomin'  woes 
-  An'  'eaves  a  bloomin'  sigh  each  morn  — '  " 

"  Why,  Old  Un !  "  exclaimed  Ravenslee,  "  that 's  a  very 
remarkable  verse !  " 

"My  land!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Trapes,  squaring  her 
elbows  in  the  doorway,  "  I  suspects  he  's  a  poet  —  an'  him 
sech  a  nice  little  old  gentleman ! " 

"  A  poet,  ma'am !  "  exclaimed  the  Old  Un  indignantly, 
"  not  me,  ma'am,  not  me  —  should  scorn  t'  be.  I  'm  a 
'ighly  respected  old  fightin'  man,  I  am,  as  never  went  on 
th'  cross: 

'A  fightin'  man  I,  ma'am, 
An'  wish  I  may  die,  ma'am, 
If  ever  my  backers  I  crossed; 
An'  what 's  better  still,  ma'am, 
Though  I  forgot  many  a  mill,  ma'am, 
Not  one  of  'em  ever  I  lost.'  " 

"  My  land !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trapes  again.  "  What  a 
memory !  " 

"  Memory,  ma'am !  "  growled  Joe,  "  that  ain't  memory ; 
'e  makes  'em  up  as  'e  goes  along  —  " 


212  The  Definite  Object 

"  Joe,"  said  the  Old  Un,  glaring,  "  if  the  lady  were  n't 
here,  an'  axin'  'er  pardon  —  I  'd  punch  you  in  the  perishin' 
eye-'ole  for  that !  " 

"  All  right,  old  vindictiveness,"  sighed  Joe,  "  an'  now, 
if  you  '11  let  go  of  Spider  Connolly's  fist,  I  'd  like  to  say 
'ow  do.  Sit  down  an'  give  some  one  else  a  chance  to  speak 
—  sit  down,  you  old  bag  o'  wind  —  " 

"  Bag  o'  —  "  the  old  man  dropped  the  Spider's  nerve 
less  hand  to  turn  to  Mrs.  Trapes  with  a  gloomy  brow. 
"  You  'card  that,  ma'am  —  you  'eard  this  perishin'  porker 
call  me  a  bag  o'  —  Joe,  I  blush  for  ye !  Ma'am,  pore  Joe 
means  well,  but  'e  can't  'elp  bein'  a  perisher  —  but  "  — 
and  here  the  Old  Un  raised  and  shook  a  feeble  old  fist  — 
"  I  've  a  good  mind  t'  ketch  'im  one  as  would  put  'im  t' 
sleep  for  a  fortnight  —  I  've  a  good  mind  —  " 

But  Mrs.  Trapes  caught  that  tremulous  fist  and  draw 
ing  the  Old  Un's  arm  through  her  own,  turned  to  the 
door. 

"  You  come  along  with  me,"  said  she,  "  you  shall  help 
me  t'  get  the  tea ;  you  shall  carry  in  th'  cake  an'  —  " 

"Cake!"  exclaimed  the  Old  Un,  "Oh,  j'yful  word, 
ma'am ;  you  're  a — a  lidy !  An'  there  's  jam,  ain't  there?  " 

"  Strawberry ! " 

"  Straw  — oh,  music  t'  me  ears,  ma'am  • —  you  're  a 
nymp'  —  lead  me  to  it !  "  So  saying,  the  Old  Un  followed 
Mrs.  Trapes  out  into  the  kitchen,  while  the  Spider  stared 
after  him  open-mouthed. 

"  Sufferin'  Pete !  "  he  murmured,  then,  inhaling  a  long, 
deep  breath,  turned  to  grasp  Joe's  mighty,  outstretched 
hand.  Then,  drawing  their  chairs  together,  they  sat  down, 
and  Ravenslee,  by  an  adroit  question  or  two,  soon  had 
them  talking,  the  Spider  quick  and  eager  and  chewing 
voraciously,  Joe  soft-voiced  and  deliberate  but  speaking 
with  that  calm  air  of  finality  that  comes  only  of  long  and 
varied  experience.  So,  while  Ravenslee  smoked  and  lis 
tened,  they  spoke  of  past  battles,  of  fights  and  fighters 
old  and  new;  they  discoursed  learnedly  on  ringcraft, 
they  discussed  the  merits  of  the  crouch  as  opposed  to  the 


The  Old  Un  Had  Tea        213 

stiff  leg  and  straight  left ;  they  stood  up  to  show  tricks 
of  foot  and  hand  —  cunning  shifts  and  feints ;  they 
ducked  and  side-stepped  and  smote  the  empty  air  with 
whirling  fists  to  the  imminent  peril  of  the  owl  that  was 
a  parrot,  which  moth-eaten  relic  seemed  to  watch  them  with 
his  solitary  glass  eye.  And  ever  the  Spider's  respect  and 
admiration  for  the  mild-eyed,  quiet-spoken  champion 
waxed  and  grew. 

"  Bo !  "  said  he,  dexterously  catching  the  toppling  bird, 
glass  case  and  all,  for  the  second  time,  and  addressing  Ra- 
venslee  with  it  clasped  to  his  heart,  "  bo,"  he  repeated, 
his  eyes  shining,  "  I  guess  Joe  Madden,  the  greatest 
battler  of  'em  all,  is  —  Joe  Madden  still.  I  've  always 
wanted  t'  meet  with  him,  an'  say  —  I  would  n't  ha'  missed 
him  for  a  farm." 

"  Is  that  so !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trapes,  entering  the 
room  at  this  moment  with  the  tea-cloth,  "  well,  now  —  you 
jest  put  'im  down  —  you  jest  put  that  bird  back  again, 
Spider  Connolly ! " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  quoth  the  Spider,  all  abashed  humility. 

"  What  you  doin'  with  it,  anyway  ?  "  she  demanded, 
elbows  jutted  ominously;  "it's  lost  a  eye,  an'  a  cat  got 
it  once  an'  sp'iled  it  some,  but  I  treasure  it  fer  reasons  o' 
sentiment,  an'  if  you  think  you  c'n  steal  it  —  " 

"  Not  'im,  ma'am,  not  'im !  "  piped  the  Old  Un  from  the 
doorway,  "  it  ain't  the  pore  lad's  fault.  It 's  Joe,  blame  it 
all  on  to  Joe  —  Joe  's  got  a  bad  'eart,  ma'am,  a  black,  base- 
'earted  perisher  is  Joe  —  so  no  jam  for  Joe,  ma'am,  an' 
only  one  slice  o*  cake." 

Here  Ravenslee  hastened  to  explain,  whereupon  Mrs. 
Trapes's  grimness  abated,  and  her  bristling  elbows  sub 
sided  ;  and  now,  perceiving  how  the  abashed  Spider,  meet 
ing  her  eye,  flushed,  plucked  at  his  cuffs,  and  shuffled  his 
feet,  she  reached  out  to  pat  his  broad  and  drooping 
shoulder. 

"  Mister  Connolly,"  said  she,  "  for  harsh  words  spoke  in 
haste  I  craves  now  your  pardon,  an'  I  craves  it  —  humble. 
Am  I  forgive?  " 


214  The  Definite  Object 

The  Spider,  flushing  redder  than  ever,  rose  to  his  feet, 
seized  her  hand,  shook  it,  and  muttered :  "  Sure !  " 

When  the  table  was  laid,  the  Old  Un  proposed,  and  was 
duly  seconded,  thirded,  and  fourthed,  that  Mrs.  Trapes 
be  elected  into  the  chair  to  pour  out  the  tea,  which  she  pro 
ceeded  to  do  forthwith,  while  the  Old  Un,  seated  at  her 
right  hand,  kept  a  wary  eye  roving  between  jam  dish  and 
angel  cake.  And  by  reason  of  the  unwonted  graciousness 
of  Mrs.  Trapes,  of  Ravenslee's  tact  and  easy  assurance, 
and  the  Old  Un's  impish  hilarity,  all  diffidence  and  re 
straint  were  banished,  and  good  fellowship  reigned  su 
preme,  though  the  Spider  was  interrupted  in  the  midst 
of  a  story  by  the  Old  Un  suddenly  exclaiming: 

"  Keep  your  hand  out  o'  the  jam,  Joe!  " 

And  Joe  was  later  rendered  speechless,  hard-breathing, 
and  indignant,  by  the  Old  Un  turning  to  Mrs.  Trapes  with 
the  shrill  warning: 

"  Ma'am,  Joe  's  'ad  two  'elpin's  o'  cake  an'  got  'is  'orrid 
eye  on  what  remains !  " 

Nevertheless,  the  meal  was  in  all  ways  a  success,  and 
Ravenslee  was  reaching  for  his  pipe  when  Mrs.  Trapes, 
summoned  to  the  front  door  by  a  feverish  knocking,  pres 
ently  came  back  followed  by  Tony,  whose  bright  eyes 
looked  wider  than  usual  as  he  saluted  the  company. 

"  Hey,  Geoff,  me  tell-a  you  piece-a  da-noos !  "  he  cried 
excitedly,  "  big-a  piece-a  da-noos.  Da  cops  go-a  pinch-a 
Bud-a  M'GJnn' !  " 

"Bud?  Bud?"  stammered  the  Spider.  "Have  they 
pinched  Bud?  Is  this  the  straight  goods,  Tony?  " 

"  Sure  —  they  gott-a  heem  this-a  morn  in  Jersey  City 
—  'n'  say,  he  think-a  eet  a  frame-up  —  he  theenk-a  Geoff 
set-a  de  cops  for-a  take  heem." 

"  The  hell  he  does !  "  exclaimed  the  Spider,  starting  to 
his  feet. 

"  So  he  send-a  da  word  to  Soapy,"  continued  Tony,  his 
eyes  rolling,  "  an'  now  all-a  da  gang  's  out  layin'  for-a 
Geoff.  So  when  Geoff  go-a  out  on  da  street  —  bingo ! 
Dey  snuff  hees  light  out  —  " 


The  Old  Un  Had  Tea        2  1 5 

"  Not  much  they  won't !  "  said  the  Spider,  buttoning  up 
his  coat  and  turning  to  the  door.  "  I  '11  mighty  soon  fix 
this,  I  guess." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can,  Spider?  "  enquired  Ravenslee. 
"  If  you  're  going  to  have  any  trouble,  don't  bother 
about  —  " 

"  Bo,"  said  the  Spider,  squaring  his  big  jaw,  "  get  onto 
this :  here  's  where  I  chip  in  with  ye ;  from  now  on  we  're 
in  this  game  together,  an'  I  ain't  a  guy  as  '11  lay  down  his 
hand  till  I  'm  called  —  an'  called  good,  see  ?  You  said 
it  was  goin'  t'  be  a  man's  work  —  by  Jiminy  Christmas, 
it  looks  like  you  're  right ;  anyway,  I  stand  in  with  you, 
that 's  sure  —  put  it  there,  bo !  " 

"  But,"  said  Ravenslee,  as  their  hands  gripped,  "  I  don't 
want  you  to  take  any  chances  on  my  account,  or  run 
any  —  " 

"  Fudge,  bo,  fudge !    I  ain't  takin'  no  chances  —  " 

"  Well,  I  'm  coming  along  to  see  you  don't ! "  said 
Ravenslee,  reaching  for  his  hat. 

"  Not  on  your  life,  bo ;  you  'd  queer  th*  whole  show. 
Y'  see,  they  're  a  tough  crowd  an'  apt  t'  act  a  bit  hasty 
now  an'  then ;  'sides,  they  might  think  you  're  heeled,  and 
they  know  I  don't  never  carry  a  gun  —  they  all  know 
me  —  " 

"  Still,  I  'm  coming,  Spider  —  " 

"  Y'  can't,  bo ;  Mrs.  Trapes  ain't  goin' t'  let  ye  —  look 
at  her!" 

"  You  never  spoke  a  truer  word  since  you  drawed  the 
vital  air,  Spider  Connolly !  "  nodded  Mrs.  Trapes,  hands 
on  hips  and  elbows  at  the  "  engage."  "  If  Mr.  Geoffrey 
stirs  out  this  day,  he 's  jest  gotter  trample  over  my 
mangled  remains,  that 's  all !  " 

Heeding  the  glitter  in  her  eye  and  noting  the  inexor 
able  jut  of  her  elbows,  Ravenslee  sat  down  and  went  on 
filling  his  pipe. 

"  Y'  see,  bo,  I  know  as  it  was  n't  you  as  give  Bud  away, 
an'  the  boys  '11  listen  t'  my  say-so  —  you  bet  they  will.  So 
here  's  where  I  ooze  away.  S'  long,  all !  " 


216  The  Definite  Object 

The  Old  Un,  having  bolted  the  last  handful  of  cake,  got 
upon  his  legs  and  clutched  the  Spider's  coat  in  talon-like 
fingers. 

"'Old  'ard,  young  feller,  me  lad!"  he  cried.  "If 
there  's  any  chance  of  a  scrap  comin'  off  —  wot  about  me? 
Gimme  me  'at,  Joe,  an'  get  yourn ;  if  I  don't  knock  some 
on  'em  stone  cold  —  call  me  a  perishin'  ass !  " 

"  Why,  since  you  say  so,  old  blood  an'  bones,"  said 
Joe,  his  mild  eye  brightening,  "  we  will  step  along  with 
the  Spider  a  little  way  if  the  Guv'nor  '11  excuse  us  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Joe,"  nodded  Ravenslee,  "  on  condition  that 
you  do  just  as  the  Spider  says." 

"  You  mean,  sir?  " 

"  No  fighting,  Joe  —  at  least,  not  yet." 

"  Trust  me,  sir !  What  ain't  to  be  —  yet,  is  to  be 
sometime,  I  'opes,"  sighed  Joe. 

"  Good-by,  Guv,  good-by !  "  croaked  the  Old  Un,  "  if 
I  don't  put  some  o'  they  perishers  in  the  'orspitals  an'  the 
infirmaries  —  I  ain't  the  man  I  was  — 

'  Oh,  used  am  I  to  war's  alarms 
I  'unger  for  the  fray, 
Though  beauty  clasps  me  in  'er  arms 
The  trumpet  calls  away.'  " 

So  having  made  their  adieux,  the  three  took  their  de~ 
parture;  though  once,  despite  Joe's  objurgations,  the  Old 
Un  must  needs  come  back  to  kiss  Mrs.  Trapes's  toil-worn 
hand  with  a  flourish  which  left  her  voiceless  and  round 
of  eye  until  the  clatter  of  their  feet  had  died  away. 

Then  she  closed  the  door  and  fixed  Ravenslee  with  her 
stoniest  stare. 

"  Mr.  Geoffrey,"  she  demanded,  "  why  did  they  call  you 
'  Guv'nor  ',  and  wherefore  '  Sir  '  ?  " 

Ravenslee,  in  the  act  of  lighting  his  pipe,  had  paused 
for  a  suitable  answer,  when  Tony,  who  had  remained  mute 
in  a  corner,  stepped  forward  and  spoke: 

"  Say,  Geoff,  I  got-a  bit-a  more  noos.  Old-a  Finlay-a 
want-a  spik  with-a  you  —  " 


The  Old  Un  Had  Tea        217 

"  Old  Finlay  —  with  me?  " 

"  Sure.  Old-a  Finlay-a  go  die-a  ver'  queek,  an'  he 
•want-a  spik  with-a  you  first." 

"Dying!  Old  Finlay  dying?"  questioned  Ravenslee, 
rising. 

"  Sure !    He  go  die-a  ver'  queek." 

"  I  '11  come !  " 

"  An'  I  guess,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  yes,  I  opine  as  I  '11 
come  along  wi'  ye,  Mr.  Geoffrey." 

Old  Martin  Finlay  lay  propped  up  by  pillows,  his 
great,  gaunt,  useless  body  seeming  almost  too  large  for 
the  narrow  bed  wherein  he  lay,  staring  up  great-eyed  at 
Ravenslee  —  live  eyes  in  a  dead  face. 

"  It 's  dying  I  am,  sorr,"  said  he  faintly,  "  an'  it 's 
grateful  is  ould  Martin  for  the  docthers  and  medicine 
you  've  paid  for.  But  it 's  meself  is  beyand  'em  all  — 
an'  it 's  beyand  'em  I  'm  goin'  fast.  She  's  waitin'  for 
me  —  me  little  Maggie  's  houlding  out  her  little  hand  to 
me  —  she  's  waitin'  for  me  —  beyand,  Holy  Mary  be 
praised !  An'  she  's  waited  long  enough,  sorr,  my  little 
Maggie  as  I  loved  so  while  the  harsh  words  burned  upon 
me  tongue  —  my  little  Maggie !  I  was  bitter  cruel  to  my 
little  girl,  but  you  've  been  kind  to  me,  and,  sorr,  I  thank 
ye.  But,"  continued  the  dying  man,  slowly  and  feebly,  "  it 
are  n't  to  thank  yez  as  I  wanted  ye  —  but  to  give  yez 
something  in  trust  for  Miss  Hermy  —  ye  see,  sorr,  I 
shan't  be  here  when  she  comes  back  to-night,  I  '11  be  with 
—  little  Maggie  when  the  hour  strikes  —  my  little  Maggie ! 
Norah,  wife  —  give  it  to  him." 

Silently  Mrs.  Finlay  opened  a  drawer,  and  turning, 
placed  in  Ravenslee's  hand  a  heavy  gold  ring  curiously 
wrought  into  the  form  of  two  hands  clasping  each  other. 

"  It  was  my  Maggie's,"  continued  Martin,  "  an'  I  guess 
she  valleyed  it  a  whole  lot,  sorr.  I  found  it  hid  away  with 
odds  and  ends  as  she  treasured.  But  she  don't  want  it 
no  more  —  she  's  dead,  ye  see,  sorr  —  I  killed  her  — 
drowned,  sorr  —  I  drowned  her.  Cruel  an'  hard  I  was  — 


218  The  Definite  Object 

shut  her  out  onto  the  streets,  I  did,  an'  so  —  she  died. 
But  before  the  river  took  —  oh,  Blessed  Mary  —  oh, 
Mother  O'  God  —  pity !  Before  she  went  t'  heaven,  Miss 
Hermy  was  good  t'  her ;  Miss  Hermy  loved  her  and  tried 
t'  comfort  her  —  but  only  God  could  do  that,  I  reckon  — 
so  she  went  t'  God.  But  Miss  Hermy  was  kind  when  I 
was  n't,  so,  sorr,  it 's  give  her  that  ring  ye  will,  plaze,  an' 
say  as  poor  Martin  died  blessing  her.  An'  now  it 's  go 
I  '11  ask  ye,  sorr,  for  God  's  callin'  me  to  wipe  away  me 
tears  an'  sorrers  and  bind  up  me  broken  heart  —  so  lave 
me  to  God  and  —  my  little  Maggie  —  " 

Very  softly  Ravenslee  followed  Mrs.  Trapes  out  of  the 
room,  but  they  had  not  reached  the  front  door  when  they 
heard  a  glad  cry  and  thereafter  a  woman's  sudden  desolate 
sobbing. 

"  Go  on,  Mr.  Geoffrey,"  whispered  Mrs.  Trapes.  "  But 
I  guess  I  'd  better  stay  here  a  bit." 

"  You  mean  — ?  "      . 

"  As  poor  Martin  's  sure  found  his  little  girl  again !  " 


CHAPTER    XXV 

HOW    SPIKE    MADE    A    CHOICE    AND   A    PROMISE 

MONDAY  morning  found  Ravenslee  knocking  at  the  oppo 
site  door,  which  opening,  disclosed  Spike,  but  a  very 
chastened  and  humble  Spike,  who  blushed  and  drooped 
his  head  and  shuffled  with  his  feet  and  finally  stammered: 

"  Hello,  Geoff  —  I  —  I  'm  all  alone,  but  you  —  you  can 
come  in  if  —  if  you  care  to?" 

"  I  dropped  in  on  my  way  down  just  to  have  a  word 
with  you,  Spike." 

With  dragging  feet  Spike  led  the  way  into  the  sitting 
room,  where  lay  his  breakfast,  scarcely  tasted. 

"  Sit  down,  Geoff,  I  —  I  want  to  apologise,"  said  the 
lad,  toying  nervously  with  his  teaspoon.  "  I  guess  you 
think  I  'm  a  mean,  low-down  sort  o'  guy,  an'  you  're  right, 
only  I  —  I  feel  worse  'n  you  think.  An'  say,  Geoff,  if  I 
—  if  I  said  anything  th'  other  night,  I  want  you  to  — 
forget  it,  will  you?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,  Spike." 

"  Hermy  's  forgiven  me.  I  —  I  've  promised  to  work 
hard  an'  do  what  she  wants." 

"I'm  glad  of  that,  Spike!" 

"  She  came  creepin'  into  my  room  this  mornin'  before 
she  went,  but  —  me  thinkin'  she  meant  to  give  me  a  last 
call  down  —  I  pretended  t'  be  asleep,  so  she  just  sighed  an' 
went  creepin'  out  again  an'  wrote  me  this,"  and  Spike 
drew  a  sheet  of  crumpled  note  paper  from  his  pocket  and 
handed  it  to  Ravenslee,  who  read  these  words : 

BOY  DEAR,  I  love  you  so  much  that  if  you  destroyed  my 
love,  I  think  you  would  destroy  me  too.  Now  I  must  leave 
you  to  go  to  my  work,  but  you  will  go  to  yours,  won't 


«22o          The  Definite  Object 

you  —  for  my  sake  and  for  your  sake  and  because  I  love 
you  so.  Be  good  and  strong  and  clean,  and  if  you  want 
some  one  to  help  you,  go  to  your  friend,  Mr.  Geoffrey. 
Goid-by,  dear  —  and  remember  your  promise. 

Ravenslee  passed  back  the  pencilled  scrawl  and  Spike, 
bending  his  head  low,  read  it  through  again. 

"  I  guess  I  've  just  got  t'  be  good,"  he  murmured,  "  for 
her  sake.  Oh,  Geoff,"  he  cried  suddenly,  "  I  'd  die  for 
her !  " 

"  Better  live  for  her,  Spike,  and  be  the  honourable, 
clean  man  she  wishes." 

"  She  sure  thinks  you  're  some  man,  Geoff !  I  guess 
she  's  —  kind  o'  —  fond  of  you." 

"  That 's  what  I  've  come  to  talk  about,  Spike." 

"  Are  you  —  fond  of  her,  Geoff?  " 

"  Fond !  "  exclaimed  Ravenslee,  forgetting  to  drawl, 
*'  I  'm  so  fond  —  I  love  her  so  much  —  I  honour  her  so 
deeply  that  I  want  her  for  my  wife." 

"  Wife?  "  exclaimed  Spike,  starting  to  his  feet,  his  eyes 
suddenly  radiant,  "  d'  ye  mean  you  '11  marry  her  ?  " 

"  If  she  will  honour  me  so  far,  Spike." 

"  Marry  her !     You  '11  marry  her !  "  Spike  repeated. 

"  As  soon  as  she  '11  let  me !  " 

"  Geoff  —  oh,  Geoff,"  exclaimed  the  boy,  and  choking, 
turned  away. 

"  Won't  you  congratulate  me  ?  " 

"  I  can't  yet,"  gasped  Spike ;  "  I  can't  till  I  've  told  ye 
what  a  mean  guy  I  've  been." 

"  What  about?  " 

"  About  you  —  an'  Hermy.  Bud  said  you  meant  t' 
make  her  go  the  way  —  little  Maggie  Finlay  went,  an'  — 
oh,  Geoff,  I  —  I  kind  of  believed  him." 

"Did  you,  Spike  —  that  foul  beast?  But  you  don't 
believe  it  any  longer,  and  M'Ginnis  is  —  only  M'Ginnis, 
after  all." 

"  But  I  —  I  've  got  to  tell  you  more,"  said  the  lad  mis 
erably,  as  meeting  Ravenslee's  eye  with  an  effort,  he  went 


How  Spike  Made  a  Choice     221 

on  feverishly.  "  The  other  night  after — after  Bud  slipped 
me  the  —  the  stuff  an'  I  'd  had  a  —  a  drink  or  two,  he 
began  askin'  all  about  you.  At  first  I  blocked  and  side 
stepped  all  his  questions,  but  he  kep'  on  at  me,  an'  at  last 
I  —  I  give  you  away,  Geoff  — "  Here  Spike  paused 
breathlessly  and  cast  an  apprehensive  glance  toward  his 
hearer,  but  finding  him  silent  and  serene  as  ever  he 
repeated : 

"I  —  gave  you  away,  Geoff !  " 

"  Did  you,  Spike?  " 

"  Yes,  I  —  I  told  him  who  you  really  are !  " 

"  Did  you,  Spike?  " 

"Yes!    Yes!     Oh,  Geoff,  don't  you  understand?" 

"  I  understand." 

"  Well,  why  don't  ye  say  something?  Why  don't  ye 
tell  me  what  I  am?  Say  I  'm  a  dirty  sneak  —  call  me  a 
yeller  cur  —  anything !  " 

"  No,  you  were  drunk,  that 's  all ;  and  when  the  drink 
is  in,  honour,  and  all  that  makes  a  man,  is  out  —  you  were 
only  drunk." 

"  Oh,  but  I  was  n't  s'  drunk  as  all  that,"  gasped  Spike, 
cowering  in  his  chair,  "  but  he  kep'  on  comin'  at  me  with 
his  questions,  an'  at  last  —  when  I  told  him  how  I  met 
up  with  you  — he  kind  o'  give  a  jump  —  an'  his  face  —  " 
Spike  clenched  his  fists  and,  slowly  raising  them,  pressed 
them  upon  his  eyes.  "  I  '11  never  forget  th'  look  on  —  his 
face !  So  now  you  know  as  I  've  blown  th'  game  on  ye  — 
given  ye  away  —  you  as  was  my  friend !  "  With  the  word 
Spike  sobbed  and  fell  grovelling  on  his  knees.  "  Curse 
me,  Geoff !  "  he  cried.  "  Oh,  curse  me,  an'  tell  me  what 
I  am ! " 

"  You  are  Hermione's  brother ! " 

"My  God!"  wailed  the  boy.  "If  she  knew,  she'd 
hate  me." 

"  I  —  almost  think  she  would,  Spike." 

"  You  won't  tell  her,  Geoff,  you  won't  never  let  her 
know?" 

«  I  _  don't  get  drunk,  Spike." 


222  The  Definite  Object 

"  But  you  won't  tell  her?  "  he  pleaded,  reaching  out 
desperate  hands,  "you  won't?" 

"  Not  a  word,  Spike !  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  I  'm  —  rotten !  "  sobbed  the  lad.  "  I  know 
you  ain't  got  no  use  for  me  any  more,  but  I  'm  sorry, 
Geoff,  I  'm  real  sorry.  I  know  a  guy  can't  forgive  a  guy 
as  gives  a  guy  away  if  that  guy  's  a  guy's  friend.  I  know 
as  you  can't  forgive  me.  I  know  as  you  '11  cut  me  out 
for  good  after  this.  But  I  want  ye  t'  know  as  I  'm  sorry, 
Geoff  —  awful  sorry  —  I  —  I  ain't  fit  t'  be  anybody's 
friend,  I  guess." 

"  I  think  you  need  a  friend  more  than  ever,  Spike ! " 

"Geoff!"  cried  the  boy  breathlessly.  "Say — what 
d'  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  the  time  has  come  for  you  to  choose  between 
M'Ginnis  and  me.  If  I  am  to  be  your  friend,  M'Ginnis 
must  be  your  enemy  from  now  on  —  wait !  If  you  want 
my  friendship,  no  more  secrets ;  tell  me  just  how  M'Ginnis 
got  you  into  his  power  —  how  he  got  you  to  break  into 
my  house." 

Spike  glanced  up  through  his  tears,  glanced  down, 
choked  upon  a  sob,  and  burst  into  breathless  narrative. 

"  There  was  me  an'  Bud  an'  a  guy  they  call  Heine  — 
we  'd  been  to  a  rube  boxin'  match  up  th'  river.  An'  as 
we  come  along,  Heine  says :  '  If  I  was  in  th'  second-story- 
lay  there 's  millionaire  Ravenslee's  wigwam  waitin'  t' 
be  cracked,'  an'  he  pointed  out  your  swell  place  among 
th'  trees  in  th'  moonlight.  Then  Bud  says:  'You  ain't 
got  th'  nerve,  Heine.  Why,  th'  Kid  's  got  more  nerve  than 
you,'  he  says,  pattin'  my  shoulder.  An'  Heine  laughs  an' 
says  I  'm  only  a  kid.  An'  Geoff,  I  'd  got  two  or  three 
drinks  into  me  an'  th'  end  was  I  agreed  t'  just  show  'em 
as  I  had  nerve  enough  t'  get  in  through  a  winder  an'  cop 
something —  anything  I  could  get.  So  Bud  hands  me  his 
'lectric  torch,  an'  we  skin  over  th'  fence  an'  up  to  th' 
house  —  an'  Heine  has  th'  winder  open  in  a  jiffy,  an'  me 
—  bein'  half-soused  an'  foolish  —  hikes  inter  th'  room, 
an'  you  cops  me  on  th'  jump  an'  —  an'  that 's  all !  " 


How  Spike  Made  a  Choice     223 

"  And  M'Ginnis  has  threatened  to  send  you  up  for  it 
now  and  then,  eh?  " 

"  Only  for  a  j  oke.  Bud  ain't  like  me ;  he  'd  never  split 
on  a  pal  —  Bud  would  n't  gimme  away  —  " 

"  Anyway,  Spike,  it 's  him  or  me.  Which  will  you  have 
for  a  friend?  " 

"  Oh,  Geoff,  I  —  I  guess  I  'd  follow  you  t'  Kingdom 
Come  if  you  'd  let  me.  I  do  want  t'  live  straight  an'  clean 

—  honest  t'  God  I  do,  Geoff,  an'  if  you  '11  only  forgive  —  " 
Spike's  outstretched,  pleading  hands  were  caught  and 

held,  and  he  was  lifted  to  his  feet. 

"  My  Arthur-Spike,  art  going  to  the  office  this 
morning?  " 

"  Sure  I  am ;  my  eye  ain't  —  ain't  s'  bad,  after  all,  is 
it?  Anyway,  I  feel  more  like  what  a  man  should  feel  like 
now,  an'  —  Gee !  look  at  me  doin'  the  sissy  tear-spoutin' 
act !  Oh,  hell  —  lemme  go  an'  wash  me  face.  'N'  say,  if 

—  if  any  o'  them  —  I  mean  those  dolly  office  boys  has 
anything  t'  say,  I  '11  punch  th'  sawdust  out  o'  them !  " 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

WHICH    MAKES    FURTHEB    MENTION    OF    A    EING 

RAVENSLEE,  strolling  in  leisurely  fashion  along  Tenth 
Avenue,  became  aware  of  a  slender,  pallid  youth  whose 
old-young  face  was  familiar;  a  cigarette  dangled  from 
his  pale,  thin  lips,  and  his  slender  hands  were  hidden  in 
the  pockets  of  his  smartly  tailored  coat.  On  went  Ravens- 
lee,  pausing  now  and  then  to  glance  idly  into  some  shop 
window  until,  chancing  to  slip  his  fingers  into  a  waist 
coat  pocket,  he  paused  all  at  once  and,  drawing  thence  a 
ring  wrought  into  the  semblance  of  two  clasped  hands, 
drew  it  upon  his  finger.  Now  as  he  glanced  at  the  ring, 
his  eye  gleamed  and,  smiling  as  one  who  has  a  sudden 
bright  idea,  he  set  off  faster  than  before,  striding  on  light 
and  purposeful  feet.  But,  as  he  turned  a  corner,  he  no 
ticed  that  the  pallid  youth  was  still  close  behind,  where 
fore  he  halted  before  a  shop  window  where,  among  other 
articles  of  diet,  were  cans  of  tomatoes  neatly  piled  into 
a  pyramid.  At  these  he  stared,  waiting,  and  presently 
found  the  pallid  youth  at  his  elbow,  who  also  stared  upon 
the  tomato  pyramid  with  half-closed  eyes  and  with  smoul 
dering  cigarette  pendent  from  thin-lipped  mouth.  And 
after  they  had  stared  awhile  in  silence,  cheek  by  jowl, 
Ravenslee  spoke  in  his  pleasant,  lazy  voice: 

"  Judging  by  the  labels  these  tomatoes  are  everything 
tomatoes  possibly  could  be." 

"  'S  right !  "  murmured  the  pale  one  imperturbably. 

"  Fond  of  tomatoes  ?  "  enquired  Ravenslee. 

"  Aw ! "  answered  his  neighbour,  "  quit  f oolin'  —  talk 


sense 


i  » 


Certainly !     Why  do  you  follow  me,  Soapy  ?  " 


Mention  of  a  Ring  225 

Soapy's  eyes  grew  narrower,  and  the  pendent  cigarette 
stirred  slightly. 

"  Know  me,  hey?  "  he  enquired. 

"  Heaven  forbid !  'T  was  a  bolt  at  a  venture  —  a  shot 
in  the  dark." 

"  Talkin'  —  o'  —  shootin',"  said  Soapy,  grimly  delib 
erate,  "  peanuts  ain't  a  healthy  profesh  around  here  — 
not  fer  your  kind,  it  ain't !  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  answered  Ravenslee,  shaking  his 
head  gently  at  the  tomatoes.  "  I  've  heard  of  professions 
even  more  unhealthy." 

"  Aw  —  well  —  say  what  ?  " 

"  Well,  talking  of  shooting  —  yours !  " 

Soapy's  narrow  eyes  gleamed  with  an  added  viciousness, 
his  pale  nostrils  expanded,  but  the  retort  died  upon  his 
curling  mouth,  his  puffy  eyelids  widened  and  widened  as 
he  stared  at  the  ring  on  Ravenslee's  finger,  and  when  he 
spoke  his  voice  was  strangely  hoarse  and  eager. 

"Say,  sport  —  where 'd  you  —  get  that  —  ring?" 

"Why  do  you  ask?" 

"  'Cause  I  want  to  know,  I  guess." 

"  Think  you  've  seen  it  before?" 

"  Sport,  I  don't  think  —  I  know.  I  seen  it  many  a 
time.  I  'd  know  it  in  a  million,  sure." 

"Where  did  you  see  it  before?" 

"On  M'Ginnis's  mitt.     It  useter  belong  t'  Bud." 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  Ravenslee,  scowling  down  at  the  ring, 
"  you  make  me  wish  more  than  ever  that  I  had  throttled 
him  a  little  harder." 

"  Where  'd  you  get  that  ring,  sport  ?  "  Soapy  repeated. 

"  From  Maggie  Finlay's  father !  " 

Soapy  turned  away  to  stare  at  the  tomato  cans  again. 

"  Meanin'?"  he  enquired  at  last,  hoarser  than  before. 

"  That  once  upon  a  time  it  belonged  to  —  her." 

"  Sport,"  said  Soapy  after  an  interval,  still  staring  at 
the  pyramid  of  cans,  "  I  useter  know  her  once,  an'  I  've 
jest  nacherally  took  a  fancy  t'  that  ring;  if  fifty  dol 
lars  '11  buy  it,  they  're  yours  —  right  now." 


226  The  Definite  Object 

"  It  is  n't  mine,"  answered  Ravenslee,  still  scowling  at 
the  ring  which  he  had  drawn  from  his  finger.  "  I  'm  on 
my  way  to  take  it  to  —  its  owner.  But  if  that  person 
does  n't  want  it,  and  I  'm  pretty  sure  —  that  person  — 
won't,  you  shall  have  it,  I  promise  you.  And  now,"  said 
he,  pocketing  the  ring  and  turning,  still  scowling,  on 
Soapy,  "  you  are  one  of  M'Ginnis's  gang,  I  fancy ;  any 
way,  if  you  see  him  you  can  tell  him  from  me  that  if  he 
gives  me  another  chance  I  '11  surely  kill  him  for  the  foul 
beast  he  is." 

"  Sport,"  said  Soapy,  "  I  guess  the  Spider 's  right 
about  you  —  anyway,  you  ain't  my  meat.  An'  as  f er 
killin*  Bud  —  you  sure  ain't  goin'  t'  get  th'  chance  — 
not  while  I  have  the  say-so.  S'  long,  sport !  "  and  turning 
upon  his  heel,  Soapy  lounged  away. 

At  Times  Square  Ravenslee  entered  the  subway  and, 
buying  his  ticket,  was  jostled  by  a  boy,  a  freckled  boy, 
round-headed  and  round  of  nose,  who  stared  at  him  with 
a  pair  of  round,  impertinent  eyes. 

Lost  in  happy  speculation  he  was  duly  borne  to  One 
Hundred  and  Thirtieth  Street,  where  he  boarded  the 
ferry.  Upon  the  boat  he  was  again  conscious  of  a  round 
head  that  bobbed  here  and  there  amid  the  throng  of  pas 
sengers,  but  paid  small  heed  as  he  leaned  to  watch  the 
broad  and  noble  river  and  the  green  New  Jersey  shore. 
At  Fort  Lee,  exchanging  boat  for  trolley  car,  he  was 
once  more  vaguely  conscious  of  two  round  eyes  that 
watched  him  from  a  rear  seat;  but  as  the  powerful  car 
whirled  them  up-hill,  plunged  them  down  steep  inclines, 
swung  them  around  sharp  curves,  through  shady  woods, 
past  far-flung  boughs  whose  leaves  stirred  and  whispered 
as  the  great  car  fleeted  by,  he  fell  again  to  dreaming  of 
Hermione  and  the  future;  and  so  reached  Englewood,  a 
small  township  dreaming  in  the  fierce  midday  sunshine. 
Here  he  enquired  of  a  perspiring  butcher  in  shirtsleeves 
the  whereabouts  of  the  house  he  wanted  and,  being  fully 
directed  and  carefully  admonished  how  to  get  there,  set 
off  along  the  road.  And  remembering  that  her  feet  must 


Mention  of  a  Ring  227 

often  have  traversed  this  very  path,  he  straightway  fell 
to  his  dreaming  again.  Thus  how  should  he  know  any 
thing  of  the  round  head  that  bobbed  out  from  behind  bush 
or  tree  ere  it  followed  whither  he  went?  So  Ravenslee 
came  where  the  road  led  between  tall  trees  —  to  smooth 
green  lawns  beyond  which  was  the  gleam  of  water  and  so 
at  last  to  the  house  he  sought. 

Now  beside  this  house,  separated  by  a  wide  stretch  of 
lawn,  was  a  small  wood  and,  lured  by  its  grateful  shade, 
he  turned  aside  into  this  wood  and  began  pushing  his  way 
through  the  dense  undergrowth,  which  presently  thinned 
to  form  a  small  clearing,  roofed  and  shut  in  by  leaves  and 
full  of  a  tender  green  light.  Here  he  paused,  and  espying 
a  fallen  tree  hard  by,  sat  himself  down  and  began  to  fill  his 
pipe.  And  now,  remembering  his  shabby  person,  he  felt 
disinclined  to  go  up  to  the  house  and  demand  to  see  Miss 
Chesterton.  Yet  see  her  he  would  —  but  how  ?  He  was 
frowning  over  this  problem  when  it  was  resolved  for  him 
quite  unexpectedly;  roused  by  the  sound  of  a  snapping 
twig,  he  glanced  up  —  and  Hermione  was  before  him. 
She  was  coming  down  a  narrow  path  that  wound  amid  the 
leaves,  and  because  she  wore  no  hat,  the  sunlight,  filtering 
through  the  branches,  made  a  glory  of  her  hair  as  she 
passed.  Her  head  was  bowed,  and  she  walked  very  slowly 
as  one  in  thought;  she  had  brought  sewing  with  her,  but 
for  once  her  busy  hands  were  idle,  and,  as  he  looked  upon 
her  beauty,  scarce  breathing,  he  saw  again  that  look  of 
wistful  sadness. 

As  he  rose,  she  glanced  up,  and  seeing  him,  stood  ut 
terly  still.  Thus  for  a  long  moment  they  gazed  upon  each 
other,  then,  even  as  he  hastened  to  her,  she  came  to  him 
on  swift,  light  feet,  and,  flushing,  tremulous,  quick-breath 
ing,  gave  herself  into  his  arms. 

"  Oh,  Hermione,  my  beloved !  "  he  murmured,  his  voice 
tense  and  eager,  "  did  n't  I  say  enough,  last  time?  Don't 
you  know  I  love  you  —  worship  you  —  hunger  and  yearn 
for  you  ?  I  want  you  with  every  breath  I  draw.  When  will 
you  be  my  wife — oh,  when  will  you  marry  me,  Hermione?" 


228  The  Definite  Object 

For  answer  she  reached  up  her  arms,  sudden,  passionate 
arms  that  clung  about  him  close  and  strong ;  so  they  stood 
thus,  heart  beating  to  heart,  thrilling  at  each  other's  near 
ness  yet  drawing  ever  closer  until,  lifting  her  head,  she  gave 
her  lips  to  his. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear,"  she  whispered,  "  is  it  right  to 
love  you  so,  I  wonder?  I  never  thought  it  could  be  — 
like  this.  It  frightens  me  sometimes,  because  my  love  is 
so  great  and  strong  and  I  —  so  powerless.  Is  it  right? 
I  —  Oh !  "  she  broke  off  breathlessly,  "  how  can  I  speak 
if  —  if  you  —  " 

"Kiss  you  so  much?"  he  ended,  "you  can't  speak,  so 

—  don't  speak,  my  Hermione !  "     But  now,  all  at  once, 
he  started  and  glanced  up  among  the  leaves  above  them. 

"  Dear,"  she  whispered,  "  what  is  it?  " 

"  That  tapping  sound,"  he  answered,  still  gazing 
upward. 

"  It 's  only  the  woodpecker." 

"  Why,  of  course !  "  he  laughed.  "  It 's  strange,  but 
I  dreamed  a  scene  like  this  —  yes,  the  great  tree  yonder, 
and  you  in  my  arms  —  though  it  seemed  so  impossible 
then,  and  —  " 

But  uttering  a  sudden,  low  cry  of  alarm,  Hermione 
broke  from  his  clasp  and  fled  from  him  along  the  leafy 
path  while  he  stared  after  her,  lost  in  amazement;  then 
he  ran  also  and  caught  her  upon  the  edge  of  the  little 
wood. 

"  What  frightened  you,  Hermione  —  who  was  it  ?  " 

"I  —  I  thought  I  saw  some  one  crouching  behind  a  bush 

—  watching  us !  " 

"  Not  —  M'Ginnis  ?  "  he  demanded,  fierce-eyed. 

"  No  —  no,  I  'm  sure  it  was  n't !  " 

"  I  '11  go  and  look,"  said  Ravenslee,  clenching  his  fists. 
But  now,  as  he  turned  away,  two  round  arms  were  about 
him  again,  soft  and  compelling,  and  she  was  looking  up  at 
him,  all  shy-eyed,  passionate  tenderness ;  and  before  the 
revelation  in  that  look,  he  forgot  all  else  in  the  world. 

"  Hermione  —  when  will  you  marry  me?  " 


Mention  of  a  Ring  229 

Now,  softened  by  distance,  there  floated  to  them  the 
mellow  booming  of  a  gong. 

"  That  means  I  must  go !  "  she  sighed. 

"  Hermione  —  when  will  you  marry  me  ?  " 

"  Good-by  —  good-by  —  I  must  run !  " 

But  his  long  arms  only  clasped  her  the  closer. 

"  Hermione,  when  will  you  be  my  wife?  " 

"  Oh,  please,  please  let  me  go ;  if  I  'm  late  —  " 

"  When,  Hermione  ?  " 

"  When  I  —  come  home,  if —  you  really  — want  me  — 
Oh,  now  my  hair  *s  all  coming  down,  I  know.  Good-by !  " 

Reluctantly  he  loosed  her  and  stood  to  watch  until, 
reaching  the  verandah  of  the  house,  she  paused  to  glance 
back  to  where  he  stood  among  the  leaves  ere  she  vanished 
between  the  screen  doors.  Then  Ravenslee  turned,  and  re 
membering  her  sudden  fright,  looked  sharply  about  him, 
even  pausing,  now  and  then,  to  peer  behind  bush  and 
thicket ;  but  this  time  he  did  not  think  to  glance  upward, 
and  thus  failed  to  see  the  round  eyes  that  watched  him 
from  amid  the  leaves  of  the  great  tree. 

So  he  came  again  to  the  dusty  highway  and  strode 
along,  throbbing  with  life  and  the  lust  of  life,  revelling  in 
the  glory  of  earth  and  sky  and  quite  unconscious  of  the 
small,  furtive  figure  that  flitted  after  him  far  behind. 

And  it  was  not  until  he  sat  in  the  ferryboat  that  he 
remembered  he  had  forgotten  to  give  her  the  ring, 
after  all. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

MRS.   TRAPES  UPON   THE  MILLENNIUM 

MULLIGAN'S  was  in  a  ferment.  Bare-armed  women  talked 
in  every  doorway;  they  talked  from  open  windows,  they 
talked  leaning  over  banisters,  they  congregated  on  land 
ings  and  in  passageways — but  everywhere  they  talked; 
while  men  and  youths  newly  returned  from  work,  lunch- 
can  and  basket  in  hand,  listened  in  wide-eyed  astonish 
ment,  shook  increaulous  heads,  puffed  thoughtfully  at  pipes 
or  cigarettes,  and  questioned  in  guttural  wonderment. 

But  Ravenslee,  lost  in  his  own  happy  thoughts,  sped  up 
the  stairs  all  unheeding,  abstractedly  returning  such  neigh 
bourly  salutes  as  he  happened  to  notice;  reaching  his 
lofty  habitation  in  due  course  he  let  himself  in,  and  was 
in  the  act  of  filling  his  pipe  when  Mrs.  Trapes  appeared. 
In  one  hand  she  grasped  a  meat  skewer  and  in  the  other 
an  open  testament,  and  it  was  to  be  noted  that  her  bright 
eyes,  usually  so  keen  and  steady,  roved  here  and  there, 
from  pink  rug  to  green  and  yellow  tablecloth,  thence  to 
the  parrot-owl,  and  at  last  to  her  lodger.  Finally  she 
spoke. 

"  Mr.  Geoffrey,  are  ye  saved  ?  "  she  demanded  in  awe 
struck  tones. 

"  Why,  really,  Mrs.  Trapes,  I  —  " 

"  Because,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  this  day  it  behooveth  us  all 
t'  think  of  our  souls  an'  th'  hereafter,  I  reckon." 

"  Souls  ?  "  said  Ravenslee,  staring  in  his  turn. 

"  Fire,"  she  continued,  shaking  portentous  head,  "  fire 
I  'm  prepared  for ;  a  earthquake  I  could  endoor ;  battle, 
murder,  and  sudden  death  I  could  abide;  poverty  is  me 


The  Millennium  231 

lot,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  an'  hardship  is  me  portion,  an'  for  all 
sich  am  I  dooly  prepared,  sich  things  bein'  nacheral;  but 
f er  this  —  well,  there !  " 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Mrs.  Trapes?  " 

"  Matter,  Mr.  Geoffrey  ?  Well,  the  millenyum  's  at 
hand,  that 's  all  —  the  lion  is  about  t'  lay  down  with  th' 
lamb,  tigers  has  lost  their  taste  fer  blood,  an'  snakes  an' 
serpints  has  shed  their  vennymous  fangs !  Mr.  Geoffrey 
—  the  day  is  at  hand  —  beware !  " 

"  What  in  the  world  —  '  began  Ravenslee,  but  Mrs. 
Trapes  stayed  him  with  uplifted  skewer,  and  drew  from 
the  mysterious  recesses  of  her  apron  a  folded  circular 
which  she  proceeded  to  spread  open  and  from  which  she 
read  in  a  hollow  voice  as  follows: 

NOTICE 

AUGUST  1,  1910. 

On  and  after  the  above  date,  all  tenants  soever  resid 
ing  within  the  tenement  house  known  as  Mulligan's  are 
warned  that  all  rents  will  be  reduced  by  fifty  per  cent. 

BY  ORDER. 

"  Now  what,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  refolding  the  circular 
very  reverently  and  shutting  it  into  the  testament,  "jest 
what  d'ye  think  o'  that?" 

"  Quite  a  —  er  —  remarkable  document,  Mrs.  Trapes  !  " 

"Remarkable?"  snorted  Mrs.  Trapes. 

"Yes,"  said  Ravenslee,  beginning  to  fill  his  pipe, 
"  extraordinary,  most  extraordinary  —  er  —  very  much 
so  —  " 

"Extraordinary?  Mr.  Geoffrey,  is  that  all  you  got  t' 
say  about  it?"  And  Mrs.  Trapes  sniffed  loudly. 

"  Well,  what  more  should  I  say?  " 

"  Why,  ain't  it  th'  wonder  o*  th'  whole  round  world  ? 
Ain't  it  th'  merry cle  of  all  time?  " 

"  Certainly !  Not  a  doubt  of  it !  "  he  agreed.  "  By  the 
way,  what  do  you  happen  to  have  for  supper?  You  see 
I  've  been  —  " 


232  The  Definite  Object 

"  Supper?  " 

"  I  'm  quite  hungry — I  'm  always  hungry  lately  and — " 

"Hungry!  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Trapes,  rolling  her  eyes, 
"  here  I  tell  him  of  wonders  an'  omens  beyond  pore  hum- 
ing  understandin',  an'  —  he  's  hungry  !  Lord,  ain't  that 
jest  like  a  man!  A  man's  soul,  if  a  man  has  a  soul,  lays 
in  his  stummick.  Hungry!  But  you  shall  be  fed  — 
prompt,  Mr.  Geoffrey.  How  '11  b'iled  salmon  an'  peas 
soot?" 

"  Splendidly !    And  I  think  —  " 

" '  On  and  after,' "  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  slowly  and 
dreamily,  "  '  on  and  after  the  above  date,  all  tenants  soever 
residin'  —  I  've  learned  it  by  heart,  Mr.  Geoffrey.  Then  it 
goes  on  to  say, '  within  the  tennyment  house  known  as  Mul 
ligan's  are  warned  '  —  hum !  I  wonder  why  '  warned  '  ?  — 
'  are  warned  that  all  rents  will  be  re-dooced  by  fifty  per 
cent ! '  Fifty  per  cent !  "  she  repeated  in  a  dreamy  rap 
ture,  "  which  is  jest  half,  y'  see.  An',  Mr.  Geoffrey,  that 's 
jest  what 's  got  me  plumb  scared  —  it 's  all  so  unnacheral. 
I  've  heard  o'  rents  bein'  rose  —  constant,  but  who  ever 
heard  of  'em  bein'  took  down  before?  Well,  well!  My 
land!  Well,  well!" 

With  which  remark  Mrs.  Trapes  went  about  her  house 
hold  duties,  leaving  Ravenslee  to  lounge  and  smoke  and 
dream  blissfully  of  Hermione. 

"  Y'  see,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  wandering  in  with  a  plate, 
"  it  '11  make  things  s'  much  easier  for  all  of  us ;  we  shall 
begin  t'  feel  almost  rich  —  some  of  us.  '  Are  warned  that 
all  rents  will  be  re-dooced  by  fifty  per  cent.'  Well,  well !  " 
and  she  wandered  out  again. 

But  presently  she  was  back  once  more,  this  time  with 
the  tablecloth,  which  she  proceeded  to  spread,  though  still 
lost  in  dreamy  abstraction. 

"  At  first  I  could  n't  an'  I  would  n't  believe  it,  Mr.  Geof 
frey  —  no,  sir !  "  she  continued  in  the  same  rapt  voice. 
*'  But  every  one  's  got  a  notice  same  as  mine,  so  I  guess 
it  must  be  true  —  don't  ye  think  ?  " 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it !  "  answered  Ravenslee. 


The  Millennium  233 

"But  th'  burnin'  question  as  I  asks  myself  is  —  who? 
It 's  signed  '  By  Order  ',  y'  see,  well  —  whose?  One  sure 
thing,  it  ain't  Mulligan." 

"  But  he  owns  the  place,  does  n't  he?  " 

"  He  did,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  an'  that 's  what  worries  me  — 
continual.  What  I  demands  is  —  who  now?  " 

"  Echo,  Mrs.  Trapes,  methinks  doth  answer  *  Who?  ' 
By  the  way,  it  was  —  er  —  salmon  arid  green  peas  I  think 
you  —  " 

"  My  land,  that  bit  o'  salmon  '11  bile  itself  t'  rags !  "  and 
incontinent  she  vanished. 

However,  in  due  time  Ravenslee  sat  down  to  as  tasty  a 
supper  as  might  be  and  did  ample  justice  to  it,  while  Mrs. 
Trapes  once  more  read  aloud  for  his  edification  from  the 
wondrous  circular,  and  was  again  propounding  the  vexed 
and  burning  question  of  "  who  "  when  she  was  interrupted 
by  a  knocking  without,  and  going  to  the  door,  presently 
returned  with  little  Mrs.  Bowker,  in  whose  tired  eyes  shone 
an  unusual  light,  and  whose  faded  voice  held  a  strange 
note  of  gladness. 

"  Good  evenin',  Mr.  Geoffrey !  "  said  she,  bobbing  him  a 
curtsey  as  he  rose  to  greet  her,  "  my  Hazel  sends  you  her 
love  an*  a  kiss  for  them  last  candies  —  an'  thank  ye  for 
all  th'  medicine  —  but  oh,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  an'  you,  Ann 
Trapes,  you  '11  never  guess  what 's  brought  me.  I  've  come 
t'  wish  ye  good-by,  we  're  —  oh,  Ann,  we  're  goin'  at  last !  " 

"  Goin' !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trapes,  clutching  at  her 
elbows,  "  y'  never  mean  as  you  're  leavin'  Mulligan's  now 
the  rent 's  been  took  down  —  re-dooced  fifty  per  cent.  — 
by  order?  " 

"  That 's  just  what  I  'm  tellin'  ye  —  oh,  Ann,  ain't  it 
just  —  heavenly !  " 

"  Heavenly !  "  repeated  Mrs.  Trapes,  and  sank  into  a 
chair. 

"  Yes,  heavenly  t'  see  th'  trees  an'  flowers  again  —  t' 
live  among  them,  Ann." 

"  Samanthy  Bowker  —  what  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  Ann,  my  Tom's  had  a  gardener's  job  offered 


234          The  Definite  Object 

him  at  a  gentleman's  mansion  in  the  country.  Tom  went 
after  it  t'day  —  an'  got  it.  Fifteen  dollars  a  week  an'  a 
cottage  —  free,  Ann !  Hazel 's  just  crazy  with  joy  —  an* 
so  'm  I !  " 

Mrs.  Trapes  fanned  herself  feebly  with  her  apron. 

"  All  I  can  say  is,"  said  she  faintly,  "  if  the  world  don't 
come  to  an  end  soon  —  I  shall.  A  gardener's  j  ob !  A  cot 
tage  in  th'  country !  Why,  that 's  what  you  've  been  hun- 
gerin'  for,  you  an'  Bowker,  ever  since  I  've  known  ye.  And 
to-day  —  it 's  come !  An'  to-day  the  rent 's  re-dooced 
itself  fifty  per  cent,  by  order  —  oh,  dear  land  o'  my 
fathers  !  When  d'  ye  go  ?  " 

"  T'morrow  mornin',  Ann.  Hazel  '11  sure  grow  a  strong, 
well  girl  in  th'  country  —  doctor  said  so  last  week  —  you 
heard  him,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  did  n't  you?  " 

"  I  did,  Mrs.  Bowker." 

"  And  my  Tom  's  that  excited  he  could  n't  eat  no  supper 

—  oh,  an'  have  ye  seen  in  t'night's  paper,  Ann,  about 
Mulligan's?" 

"  No  —  what  now?  "  enquired  Mrs.  Trapes,  as  though 
on  the  verge  of  collapsing. 

"  Well,  read  that  —  right  there !  "  and  unfolding  an 
evening  paper,  Mrs.  Bowker  pointed  to  a  paragraph 
tucked  away  into  a  corner,  and,  drawing  a  deep  breath, 
Mrs.  Trapes  read  aloud  as  follows: 

It  is  understood  that  Geoffrey  Ravenslee,  the  well- 
known  sportsman  and  millionaire,  winner  of  last  year's 
International  Automobile  race  and  holder  of  the  world's 
long-distance  speed  record,  has  lately  paid  a  record  price 
in  a  real  estate  deal.  A  certain  tenement  building  off 
Tenth  Avenue  has  been  purchased  by  him,  the  cost  of 
which,  it  is  rumoured,  was  fabulous. 

"  Fab'lous ! "  repeated  Mrs.  Trapes,  and  sniffed. 
"  Well,  I  never  had  no  use  fer  millionaires,  anyway  — 
they  're  generally  fools  or  rogues  —  this  one  's  a  fool  sure 

—  any  one  is  as  would  give  much  fer  a  place  like  Mulli- 


The  Millennium  235 

gan's  —  an'  yet,  come  t'  think  of  it  again  — '  are  warned 
as  all  rents  will  be  re-dooced  fifty  per  cent,  by  order '  — 
yes,  come  t'  think  of  it  again,  what  I  say  is  —  God  bless 
this  millionaire,  an'  whatever  he  is,  Ann  Angelina  Trapes 
is  sure  goin'  t'  mention  him  before  th'  Throne  this  night." 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

WHICH    SHOULD    HAVE    RELATED    DETAILS   OF    A   WEDDING 

"  IT  's  all  very,  very  wonderful,  Ann,  dear !    But  then  — 
everything  is  so  wonderful  —  just  lately!  " 

"  Meanin'  what,  Hermy  ?  " 

Hermione  was  darning  one  of  Spike's  much-mended 
socks,  while  Mrs.  Trapes  sat  drinking  tea.  "  Meanin'  jest 
what  is  wonderful,  my  dear,  and  —  since  when?"  she 
persisted. 

"  Oh  —  everything,  Ann !  " 

"  Yes,  you  said  everything  before.  S'pose  you  tell  me 
jest  the  one  thing  as  you  find  so  wonderful?  An'  —  why 
an'  wherefore  that  blush?  " 

"  Oh,  Ann  —  Ann,  dear !  "  Down  went  sock  and  needle 
and,  falling  on  her  knees,  Hermione  clasped  her  arms  about 
Mrs.  Trapes  and  hid  her  glowing  face  in  her  lap.  "  Ann, 
dear,  I  'm  so  happy !  "  she  sighed  —  her  speech  a  little 
muffled  by  reason  of  the  voluminous  folds  of  Mrs.  Trapes's 
snowy  apron. 

"  Happy?  "  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  setting  down  her  teacup 
to  fondle  and  stroke  that  shapely  head,  "  sich  happiness 
ain't  all  because  of  the  rent  bein'  re-dooced,  by  order,  I 
reckon  —  is  it  ?  " 

"  Dear  Ann,"  said  Hermione,  her  face  still  hidden, 
"  can't  you  guess?  " 

"  No,  my  dear,"  answered  Mrs.  Trapes,  her  harsh  tones 
wonderfully  soft,  "  I  don't  have  to  —  I  guessed  days  ago. 
D'  ye  love  him,  Hermy?  " 

"  Love  him  !  "  repeated  Hermione,  and  said  no  more,  nor 
did  she  lift  her  bowed  head,  but  feeling  the  quick,  strong 
pressure  of  those  soft,  embracing  arms,  the  quiver  of  that 


Details  of  a  Wedding          237 

girlish  body,  Mrs.  Trapes  smiled,  and  stooping,  kissed 
.  Hermione's  shining  hair. 

"  When  did  he  speak,  ray  dear  ?  " 

"  Last  Monday,  Ann." 

"  Did  he  say  —  much?  " 

"  He  asked  me  to  —  marry  him." 

"  Spoke  of  marriage,  eh?  Did  he  happen  t5  mention 
th'  word  —  wife?  " 

"  Oh,  many  times,  Ann." 

"  Good  f'r  him !    An'  when  's  it  t'  be?  " 

"  Oh,  Ann,  dear,  I  —  I  'm  afraid  it 's  —  to-night !  " 

"  T'night?    My  land,  he  's  sure  some  hasty!  " 

"  And  so  —  so  masterful,  Ann !  " 

"  Well,  y'  sure  need  a  master.  But  t'night  —  land 
sakes !  " 

"  He  wrote  and  told  me  he  would  fix  things  so  he  could 
marry  me  to-night,  Ann !  " 

"  Then  he 's  sure  out  fixin'  'em  right  now.  Lord, 
Hermy,  why  d'  ye  tremble,  girl  —  y'  sure  love  him,  don't 
ye?  " 

"  So  much,  Ann,  so  very  much  —  and  yet  —  " 

"You  ain't  scared  of  him,  are  ye?  " 

"  No  —  and  yet,  I  —  I  think  I  am  —  a  little." 

"  But  you  '11  marry  him,  all  the  same  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  An'  t'night?  " 

"  Yes.  But  Ann,  dear,  when  he  comes  in  I  want  you  to 
keep  him  with  you  as  long  as  you  can  —  will  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  sure  I  '11  keep  him,  jest  as  long  as  —  he  '11  let 
me !  Lord,  t'  think  as  my  little  Hermy  '11  be  a  married 
woman  this  night !  " 

"  And  —  oh,  Ann,  I  have  n't  any  —  trousseau  —  " 

"  Shucks !  You  don't  need  none.  You  're  best  as  you 
are.  You  won't  need  no  fluffs  an'  frills,  I  reckon." 

"  But,  Ann  dear,"  said  Hermione,  lifting  her  head  and 
shaking  it  ruefully,  "  I  have  —  nothing !  And  my  best 
dress  —  I  made  it  in  such  a  hurry,  you  remember  —  it 
needs  pressing  and  —  " 


238  The  Definite  Object 

"  He  ain't  rnarryin'  you  fer  your  clo'es,  Hermy  —  no, 
sir !  It 's  you  he  wants  an'  —  oh,  shucks  !  What  do 
clo'es  matter  t'  you,  anyway?  You  was  meant  to  be  one 
o'  them  nymphs  an'  goddesses  as  went  about  clad  —  well, 
airy.  You  'd  ha'  done  fine  with  them  soft  arms  an'  shoul 
ders  an'  —  " 

"  But  I  'm  not  a  goddess.,  Ann,  I  'm  only  poor  Hermy 
Chesterton  —  with  a  hole  in  one  stocking  and  the  lace  on 
her  petticoat  torn,  and  her  other  things  —  well,  look 
here !  "  and  up  whirled  gown  and  petticoat,  "  see  what 
a  state  they  're  in  —  look,  Ann !  " 

"  My  dear,  I  am !  "  nodded  Mrs.  Trapes  over  her  tea 
cup,  "  an'  what  I  say  is,  it  don't  matter  a  row  o'  pins  if  a 
stockin'  's  got  a  bit  of  a  hole  in  it  if  that  stockin'  's  on 
sich  a  leg  as  that !  An'  as  fer  —  " 

"  But,"  sighed  Hermione,  "  don't  you  understand  —  " 

"  My  dear,  I  do !  I  was  a  married  woman  once,  mind. 
An'  I  tell  you  '  beauty  doth  lie  in  the  eye  o'  the  beholder ', 
my  dear,  an'  the  two  eyes  as  is  a-goin'  t'  behold  you  this 
night  is  goin'  t'  behold  so  much  beauty  as  they  won't  be 
hold  nothin'  else." 

"  But  —  he  loves  dainty  things,  I  'm  sure." 

"  Well,  ain't  he  gettin'  a  dainty  thing?  Ain't  he  gettin' 
th'  daintiest,  sweetest,  loveliest  —  "  Here  Mrs.  Trapes 
set  down  her  cup  again  to  clasp  Hermione  in  her  arms. 

"  Do  you  think  he  '11  —  understand,  Ann  ?  " 

"  He  '11  be  a  fool  if  he  does  n't !  " 

"  And  make  allowances  ?  He  knows  how  poor  we  are 
and  how  busy  I  have  to  be." 

"  He  does  so,  my  dear.  But,  if  it 's  goin'  t'  comfort 
you  any,  there  's  that  corset  cover  you  made  me  last 
Christmas.  I  ain't  never  wore  it;  I  ain't  dared  to  with 
all  them  trimmin's  an'  lace  insertion,  an'  me  s'  bony  here 
an'  there.  You  can  have  it  an'  willin',  my  dear,  an'  then 
there  's  them  —  " 

"  Ann,  you  dear  thing,  as  if  I  would !  " 

"  Why  not  ?  That  corset  cover  's  a  dream !  An*  then 
there  's  them  —  " 


Details  of  a  Wedding          239 

"  Dear,  I  could  n't —  I  would  n't !  No,  I  '11  go  to  him 
just  as  I  am  —  he  shall  marry  me  just  like  I  am  —  " 

"  An'  that 's  a  goddess !  "  nodded  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  yes, 
a  young  goddess  —  only,  with  more  clo'es  on,  o'  course. 
I  'm  glad  as  he  's  quit  peanuts ;  peanut  men  don't  kind  o' 
jibe  in  with  goddesses." 

"  Ann,"  said  Hermione,  sitting  back  on  her  heels,  "  I 
think  of  him  a  great  deal,  of  course,  and  —  just  lately  — 
I  've  begun  to  wonder  —  " 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  blowing  her  tea,  "  so  do 
I !  I  been  wonderin'  ever  since  he  walked  into  my  flat,  cool 
as  I  don't  know  what,  an',  my  dear,  when  I  sets  me  mind 
t'  wonderment,  conclusions  arrive  —  constant !  I  '11  tell 
ye  what  I  think.  First,  he  ain't  s'  poor  as  he  seems  —  he 
wears  silk  socks,  my  dear.  Second,  he  's  been  nurtured 
tender  —  he  cleans  them  white  teeth  night  an'  morn. 
Third,  he  ain't  done  no  toil-an'-spinnin'  act  —  take  heed 
t'  his  hands,  my  dear.  He  's  soft-spoke  but  he  's  master 
ful.  He  's  young,  but  he  's  seen  a  lot.  He  ain't  easy  t' 
rile,  but  when  he  is  —  my  land !  He  don't  say  a  lot,  an' 
he  don't  seem  t'  do  much,  an'  yet  —  he  don't  seem  t'  starve 
none.  Result  —  he  may  be  anything ! " 

"Anything?    Ann,  dear!" 

"  Anything !  "  repeated  Mrs.  Trapes.  "  An'  havin' 
studied  him  good  an'  heeded  him  careful,  I  now  conclood 
he  's  jest  the  thing  you  need,  my  dear." 

"  Then  you  like  him,  Ann  —  you  trust  him  ?  " 

"  I  sure  do." 

"  Oh,  you  dear  —  dear  —  dear  thing !  "  And  once  again 
Mrs.  Trapes  was  clasped  in  those  vigorous  young  arms 
and  kissed  with  every  "  dear." 

"  Though,  mind  you,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  pushing  cup 
and  saucer  out  of  harm's  way,  "  though,  mind  you,  he  's 
a  mystery  I  ain't  found  out  —  yet.  D'  ye  s'pose  he  made 
any  money  out  o'  them  blessed  peanuts  —  not  him !  Mrs. 
Smalley,  as  lives  down  along  'Leventh,  she  told  me  as  she  's 
seen  him  givin'  'em  away  by  the  bagful  t'  all  the  children 
down  her  way  —  repeated !  " 


240  The  Definite  Object 

"  How  sweet  of  him !  "  said  Hermione,  her  red  mouth  all 
tender  curves. 

"Yes,  but  how  did  he  live?  How  does  he?  How  will 
he?" 

"  I  don't  know,  dear ;  I  only  know  I  would  trust  him 
always  —  always ! "  And  sitting  back,  chin  in  hand,  Her 
mione  fell  again  to  happy  thought. 

"  When  he  give  up  the  nuts,"  pursued  Mrs.  Trapes, 
draining  the  teapot  and  sighing,  "  he  tells  me  some  fool 
tale  of  makin'  a  deal  in  real  estate,  an'  I  —  ha,  real  es 
tate!"  Mrs.  Trapes  put  down  the  teapot  with  a  jerk. 
"  A  deal  in  real  estate !  "  she  repeated,  and  thereafter  fell 
to  such  unintelligible  mutterings  as  "  Record  price !  Fab'- 
lous !  No,  it  could  n't  be !  An'  yet  —  silk  socks !  '  On 
an'  after  above  date  all  tenants  soever  residin'  —  will  be 
re-dooced  by  fifty  per  cent ! '  "  Suddenly  Mrs.  Trapes  sat 
bolt  upright.  "  My  land !  "  she  ej  aculated,  "  oh,  dear 
land  o'  my  fathers  —  if  sech  could  be !  " 

"  Why,  Ann,"  exclaimed  Hermione,  roused  from  her 
reverie,  "  whatever  is  the  matter?  " 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  laying  gentle  hand  on 
Hermione's  blooming  cheek,  "  nothin'  —  nothin'  't  all ! 
I  'm  jest  go  in'  over  in  my  mind  sich  small  matters  as  silk 
socks  an'  toothbrushes,  that 's  all." 

"But  you  do  mean  something — you  always  do." 

"  Well  —  if  I  do  this  time,  my  dear,  I  'm  crazy  —  but 
the  Bowkers  have  gone,  mind  that!  An'  him  s'  fond 
o'  little  Hazel ! "  Here  Mrs.  Trapes  nodded  almost 
triumphantly. 

"  The  Bowkers  ?    Why,  yes  —  I  've  been  wondering  —  " 

"  I  guess  you  know  he  went  t'  O'Rourke's  an'  give  that 
M'Ginnis  the  thrashin'  of  his  dirty  life?"  said  Mrs. 
Trapes  rather  hastily.  "  Nigh  killed  the  loafer,  Spider 
Connolly  told  me." 

"  He  's  so  strong,"  said  Hermione  softly,  her  eyes  shin 
ing.  "  But,  Ann,  what  did  you  mean  about  —  about  tooth 
brushes  and  socks?  " 

"  Mean  ?    Why,  socks  an'  toothbrushes,  o'  course.    An' 


Details  of  a  Wedding          241 

my  land !  here  's  me  guzzlin'  tea,  an'  over  in  my  kitchen 
th'  finest  shin  o'  beef  you  ever  saw  a-b'ilin'  f'r  his  supper. 
But  now  the  question  as  burns  is,  if  a  married  man  this 
night,  will  he  be  here  t'  eat?  An'  if  him  —  then  you?  An' 
if  man  an'  wife  suppin'  in  my  parlour  —  where  will  ye 
sleep  ?  " 

"I  —  oh,  Ann  —  I  don't  know.  His  letter  just  said 
that  when  I  came  home  it  would  be  our  —  wedding  night !  " 

"  Why,  then  it  sure  will  be.  An'  f'r  a  weddin'  supper, 
y'  could  n't  have  nothin'  better  'n  shin  o'  beef.  I  '11  go 
an'  watch  over  that  stoo  with  care  unfailin',  my  dear; 
believe  me,  that  stoo  's  goin'  t'  be  a  stoo  as  is  a  stoo ! 
What,  half  after  five?  Land  sakes,  how  time  flies! " 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

IN    WHICH    HERMIONE    MAKES    A    FATEFUL    DECISION 

WHEN  Mrs.  Trapes  was  gone,  Hermione  stood  a  long 
time  to  look  at  herself  in  her  little  mirror,  viewing  and 
examining  each  feature  of  her  lovely,  intent  face  more 
earnestly  than  she  had  ever  done  before;  and  sometimes 
she  smiled,  and  sometimes  she  frowned,  and  all  her  thought 
was: 

"  Shall  I  make  him  happy,  I  wonder?  Can  I  be  all  he 
wants  —  all  he  thinks  I  am  ?  " 

So,  after  some  while,  she  combed  and  brushed  out  her 
glorious  hair,  shyly  glad  because  of  its  length  and  splen 
dour;  and,  having  crowned  her  shapely  head  with  it, 
viewed  the  effect  with  cold,  hypercritical  eyes. 

"  Can  I,  oh,  can  I  ever  be  all  he  wants  —  all  he  thinks 
I  am?" 

And  then  she  proceeded  to  dress ;  the  holey  stockings 
were  replaced  by  others  that  had  seen  less  service;  the 
worn  frills  and  laces  were  changed  for  others  less  thread 
bare.  This  done,  Hermione,  with  many  supple  twists, 
wriggled  dexterously  into  her  best  dress,  pausing  now 
and  then  to  sigh  mournfully  and  grieve  over  its  many  defi 
ciencies  and  shortcomings,  defects  which  only  feminine 
eyes,  so  coldly  critical,  might  hope  to  behold. 

Scarcely  was  all  this  accomplished  when  she  heard  a 
soft  knock  at  the  outer  door,  and  at  the  sound  her  heart 
leapt ;  she  flushed  and  paled  and  stood  a  moment  striving 
to  stay  the  quick,  heavy  throbbing  within  her  bosom ;  then 
breathlessly  she  hastened  along  the  passage  and,  opening 
the  door  with  trembling  hands,  beheld  Bud  M'Ginnis. 
While  she  stared,  dumb  and  amazed,  he  entered  and,  clos 
ing  the  door,  leaned  his  broad  back  against  it. 


A  Fateful  Decision  243 

"  Goin'  away,  Hermy  ?  "  he  enquired  softly,  looking  her 
over  with  his  slow  gaze. 

"  Yes." 

"Goin'  far,  Hermy?" 

«  I  don't  know." 

*'  Goin'  —  alone,  Hermy?  " 

"  Why  are  you  here?     What  do  you  want?  " 

"  T'  save  ye  from  —  hell !  "  he  answered,  his  voice  ris 
ing  loud  and  harsh  on  the  last  word.  "  Oh,  I  know,"  he 
went  on  fiercely,  "  I  know  why  you  're  all  dolled  up  in  your 
best.  I  know  as  you  mean  t'  go  away  to-night  with  — 
him.  But  you  ain't  goin',  girl  —  you  ain't." 

"  To-night,"  she  said  gently,  "  is  my  wedding  night." 

M'Ginnis  lifted  a  hand  and  wrenched  at  the  silken 
neckerchief  he  wore  as  though  it  choked  him. 

"  No !  "  he  cried,  "  you  ain't  a-goin'  t'  get  no  wedding, 
Hermy ;  he  don't  mean  t'  give  ye  a  square  deal.  He  's 
foolin'  ye  —  foolin'  ye,  girl !  Oh,"  said  he  through  shut 
teeth,  "  ye  thought  I  was  safe  out  o'  the  way,  I  guess. 
You  ought  t'  known  better ;  th'  p'lice  could  n't  hold  me, 
they  never  will.  Anyway,  I  've  kept  tabs  on  ye  —  I  know 
as  you  've  been  meeting  him  —  in  a  wood !  I  know,"  here 
M'Ginnis  seemed  to  choke  again,  "  I  know  of  you  an'  him 
—  kissin'  an'  cuddlin'  —  oh,  I  've  kept  tabs  on  ye  —  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  gently,  "  I  saw  your  spy  at  work." 

"  But  y'  can't  deny  it.  Y'  don't  deny  it !  Say,  what 
kind  o'  girl  are  you?  " 

"  The  kind  that  does  n't  fear  men  like  you." 

"  But  y'  can't  deny  meetin'  him,"  he  repeated,  his  hoarse 
voice  quivering ;  "  you  don't  deny  —  kissin'  him  —  in  a 
wood !  Only  deny  it,  Hermy,  only  say  you  did  n't,  an' 
I  '11  choke  th'  life  out  of  any  guy  as  says  you  did  —  only 
deny  it,  Hermy  " 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  deny  it.  If  your  spy  had  ears 
he  can  tell  you  that  we  are  going  to  be  married.  Now  go." 

Once  more  M'Ginnis  reached  up  to  his  throat  and 
wrenched  off  the  neckerchief  altogether. 

"  Married !  "  he  cried,  "  an'  t'  him !     He  's  foolia'  ye, 


244          The  Definite  Object 

Hermy,  by  God  he  is !  Girl,  I  'm  tellin'  ye  straight  an* 
true  —  he  '11  never  marry  ye.  His  kind  don't  marry  Tenth 
Av'ner  girls  —  Nooport  an'  Fifth  Av'ner  's  a  good  ways 
from  Hell's  Kitchen  an'  Tenth  Av'ner,  an'  they  can't  ever 
come  t'gether,  I  reckon." 

"  Ah !  "  sighed  she,  falling  back  a  step,  "  what  do  you 
mean?  " 

"  Why,  I  mean,"  said  M'Ginnis,  twisting  the  necker 
chief  in  his  powerful  hands  much  as  if  it  had  been  the  neck 
of  some  enemy,  "  I  mean  as  this  guy  as  comes  here  bluffin' 
about  bein'  down  an'  out,  this  guy  as  plays  at  sellin'  pea 
nuts  is  —  Geoffrey  Ravenslee,  the  millionaire." 

"  But  —  he  is  —  Arthur's  friend !  " 

"  Friend  —  nothin' !  "  said  he,  wringing  and  wrenching 
at  the  neckerchief,  "  I  guess  you  ain't  found  out  how  th' 
Kid  an'  him  came  t'  meet,  eh?  Well,  I  '11  tell  ye  —  listen ! 
Your  brother  broke  in  to  this  millionaire's  swell  house  — 
through  the  winder  —  an'  this  millionaire  caught  him." 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  smiling  in  bitter  scorn,  "  what  a  clumsy 
liar  you  are,  Bud  M'Ginnis !  " 

"  No,"  he  cried  eagerly,  "  no,  I  ain't  tellin'  ye  no  lies ; 
it 's  God's  own  truth  I  'm  givin'  ye." 

"No,  you're  just  a  liar,  Bud  M'Ginnis:"  and  she 
would  have  turned  from  him,  but  his  savage  grip  stayed 
her. 

"  A  liar,  am  I  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Why,  then,  you  're  sister 
to  a  crook,  see !  Your  brother  's  a  thief !  a  crook !  You 
ain't  got  much  t'  be  s'  proud  over  —  " 

"  Let  me  go !  " 

"  Listen !  Your  brother  got  into  this  guy's  house  t' 
steal,  and  this  millionaire  guy  caught  him  —  in  the  act ! 
An'  havin'  nothin'  better  t'  do,  he  makes  young  Spike 
bring  him  down  here  —  just  t'  see  th'  kind  o'  folks  as 
lives  in  Hell's  Kitchen,  tee  ?  Then  he  meets  you  —  you 
look  kind  o'  good  t'  him,  so  he  says  t'  th'  Kid,  *  Look  here,' 
he  says,  '  you  help  me  game  along  with  y'r  sister,  an' 
we  '11  call  it  quits  —  '  " 

Breaking  from  his  bold,  Hermione  entered  the  little 


A  Fateful  Decision  245 

parlour,  and  sinking  down  beside  the  table,  crouched  there, 
hiding  her  face,  while  M'Ginnis,  leaning  in  the  doorway, 
watched  her,  his  strong  hands  twisting  and  wrenching  at 
the  neckerchief. 

"  Ah,  leave  me  now !  "  she  pleaded,  "  you  've  done 
enough,  so  —  go  now  —  go  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  '11  go.  I  come  here  t'  put  ye  wise  —  an'  I  have ! 
You  're  on  to  it  all  now,  I  guess.  Nooport  and  Fifth 
Av'ner  's  a  good  ways  from  Hell's  Kitchen  and  Tenth 
Av'ner,  an'  they  can't  never  come  together.  I  guess  there  's 
sure  some  difference  between  this  swell  guy  with  all  his 
millions  an'  a  Tenth  Av'ner  girl  as  is  a  —  thief's  sis 
ter  —  " 

Slowly  Hermione  lifted  her  head  and  looked  up  at  him, 
and  M'Ginnis  saw  that  in  her  face  which  struck  him  mute ; 
the  neckerchief  fell  from  his  nerveless  fingers  and  lay  there 
all  unheeded. 

"  Hermione,"  he  muttered,  "I  —  girl,  are  ye  —  sick?  " 

"  Go !  "  she  whispered,  "  go !  " 

And  turning  about,  M'Ginnis  stumbled  out  of  the  place 
and  left  her  alone.  For  a  long  time  she  sat  there,  motion 
less  and  crouched  above  the  table,  staring  blindly  before 
her,  and  in  her  eyes  an  agony  beyond  tears,  heedless  of 
the  flight  of  time,  conscious  only  of  a  pain  sharper  than 
flesh  can  know.  Suddenly  a  key  was  thrust  in  the  lock 
of  the  outer  door,  footsteps  sounded  along  the  passage 
accompanied  by  a  merry  whistling,  and  Spike  appeared. 

"  Hello,  Hermy,  ain't  tea  ready  yet?  "  he  enquired, 
tossing  aside  his  straw  hat  and  opening  a  newspaper  he 
carried,  "  say,  the  Giants  are  sure  playin'  great  ball  this 
season  —  what,  are  ye  asleep?" 

"  No,  dear !  " 

"  Why,  Hermy,"  he  exclaimed,  dropping  the  paper  and 
clasping  an  arm  about  her,  "  Oh,  Hermy  —  what  is  it  ?  " 

"Oh,  boy  —  dear,  dear  boy  —  you  didn't,  did  you?" 
she  cried  feverishly.  "  You  are  a  little  wild  —  sometimes, 
dear,  just  a  little  —  but  you  are  good  —  and  honour 
able,  are  n't  you  ?  " 


24-6  The  Definite  Object 

"  Why,  yes,  Hermy  I  —  I  try  t'  be,"  he  answered  un 
easily  ;  "  but  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"  You  're  not  a  thief,  af e  you  ?  You  're  not  a  burglar  ? 
You  never  broke  into  any  one's  house.  I  know  you  did  n't, 
but  —  tell  me  you  did  n't  —  tell  me  you  did  n't !  " 

"  No  —  no,  o'  course  not,"  stammered  Spike  and,  avert 
ing  his  head,  tried  to  draw  away,  but  she  clung  to  him  all 
the  closer. 

"  Boy  —  boy  dear,"  she  whispered  breathlessly,  "  oh, 
boy,  look  at  me !  " 

But  seeing  he  kept  his  face  still  turned  from  her,  she 
set  a  hand  to  his  cheek  and  very  gently  forced  him  to  meet 
her  look.  For  a  long  moment  she  gazed  thus  —  saw  how 
his  eyes  quailed,  saw  how  his  cheek  blanched,  and  as  he 
cowered  away,  she  rose  slowly  to  her  feet,  and  into  her 
look  came  a  growing  horror;  beholding  which  Spike  cov 
ered  his  face  and  shrank  away  from  her. 

"  Oh,  boy  —  "  her  voice  had  sunk  to  a  whisper  now, 
*'  oh,  boy  —  say  you  did  n't !  " 

"  Hermy  —  I  —  can't  —  " 

"Can't?" 

"It's  — it's  all  — true.  Yes,  I  did!  Oh,  Hermy, 
forgive  me." 

"Tell  me!" 

"  Oh,  forgive  me,  Hermy,  forgive  me !  "  he  cried,  reach 
ing  out  and  trying  to  catch  her  hand.  "  Yes,  I  '11  tell  ye. 
I  —  I  got  in  —  through  th'  winder,  an'  Geoff  caught  me. 
But  he  let  me  go  again  —  he  said  he  'd  never  tell  nobody 
if  —  ah,  don't  look  at  me  like  that !  " 

"If  — what?" 

"  If  I  'd  bring  him  back  here  with  me  —  Hermy,  don't ! 
Your  eyes  hurt  me  —  don't  look  at  me  that  way." 

"  So  it  —  is  —  all  —  true !  " 

"  Oh,  forgive  me,  forgive  me !  "  he  pleaded,  throwing 
himself  on  his  knees  before  her  and  writhing  in  the  anguish 
of  remorse.  "  They  doped  me,  Hermy,  I  —  did  n't  know 
what  I  was  doin'  —  they  did  n't  give  me  no  time  t'  think. 
Oh,  forgive  me,  Hermy;  Geoff  forgave  me,  an'  you  must 


A  Fateful  Decision  247 

—  oh,  God,  you  must,  Hermy !  "     Again  he  sought  to 
reach  her  hand,  but  now  it  was  she  who  shrank  away. 

"  I  loved  you  so  —  I  —  loved  —  you  so !  "  she  said 
dully. 

"  Hermy,"  he  cried,  catching  hold  of  her  dress,  "  for 
give  me  —  just  this  once,  for  God's  sake!  I  ain't  got  no 
body  in  the  world  but  you  —  forgive  me !  "  And  now  his 
pleading  was  broken  by  fierce  sobs,  and  he  sought  to  hide 
his  tear-stained  face  in  the  folds  of  her  dress,  but  she  drew 
it  quickly  from  him,  shrinking  away  almost  as  if  she  feared 
him. 

"  A  thief !  "  she  whispered,  "  oh,  God  —  my  brother  a 
thief !  I  don't  seem  —  able  to  —  think.  Go  away  —  go 
away,  I  —  must  be  —  alone !  " 

"  Hermy,  dear,  I  swear  —  oh,  I  swear  I  '11  —  " 

"  Go  away !  " 

"  Oh,  Hermy,  I  did  n't  think  you  'd  ever  —  turn  away 

—  from  me." 

"  Go  away ! " 

"  Oh,  Hermy  —  won't  you  listen?  " 

"  I  can't !     Not  now.     Go  away." 

Sobbing,  the  boy  got  to  his  feet,  and  taking  his  hat, 
crossed  slow-footed  to  the  door;  there  he  paused  to  look 
back  at  her,  but  her  staring  eyes  gazed  through  him  and, 
turning  hopelessly  away,  he  brushed  his  sleeve  across  his 
cheek  and,  treading  slow  and  heavily  along  the  passage, 
was  gone. 

Dry-eyed  she  stood  awhile,  then  sank  again  beside  the 
table  and  crouched  there  with  face  bowed  between  out 
stretched  arms,  and  hands  tight  clenched.  Evening  be 
gan  to  fall,  but  still  she  sat  huddled  there,  motionless, 
and  uttering  no  sound,  and  still  her  eyes  were  tearless. 
At  last  she  stirred,  conscious  of  a  quick,  firm  step  near  by, 
and,  thrilling  to  that  sound,  rose  and  stood  with  her  back 
to  the  fading  light  as  Ravenslee  entered. 

"  Dear,"  said  he,  tender  and  eager,  "  I  found  the  door 
open  —  did  you  leave  it  for  me  ?  Why,  Hermione  — 
oh,  my  love,  what  is  it?  "  and  he  would  have  caught  her  to 


248  The  Definite  Object 

him,  but  she  held  him  away  and  Questioned  him,  quick- 
breathing:  >w  " 

"  You  are  —  Geoffrey  Ravenslee  —  the  millionaire  — 
are  n't  you  ?  " 

"  Why  —  er  —  I  —  I  'm  afraid  I  am,"  he  stammered. 
"  I  'm  sorry  you  found  it  out  so  soon,  dearest ;  I  wanted 
to  tell  you  after  we  —  " 

"  Oh,  why  did  n't  you  tell  me  before  —  why  did  n't 
you  ?  No  —  please  wait !  You  —  you  caught  my  — 
brother,  did  n't  you  ?  "  she  went  on  breathlessly ;  "  he 
had  broken  in  —  was  burgling  your  house,  was  n't  he  — 
was  n't  he?  " 

"  How  in  the  world,"  began  Ravenslee,  flinching,  "  who 
told  —  " 

"  He  broke  into  your  house  to  —  steal,  did  n't  he  — 
didn't  he?" 

"  But,  good  heavens  —  that  was  all  forgotten  and  done 
with  long  ago !  They  'd  made  the  poor  chap  drunk  — 
he  did  n't  know  what  he  was  doing  —  it 's  all  forgotten 
long  ago!  Dear  heart,  why  are  you  so  pale?  God,  Her- 
mione  —  nothing  can  alter  our  love !  " 

"  No,  nothing  can  alter  our  love,"  she  repeated  in  the 
same  dull  tones.  "  Oh,  no,  nothing  can  ever  alter  that ; 
even  though  you  deceived  me  I  shall  always  love  you,  I 
can't  help  it.  And  just  because  I  do  love  you  so,  and 
because  I  am  a  thief's  sister,  I  —  oh,  I  can  never  be  your 
wife  —  I  could  n't,  could  I?  " 

"  By  God,  Hermione,  but  you  shall !  "  As  he  spoke  he 
caught  her  in  his  arms,  passionate  arms  that  drew  and 
held  her  close.  Very  still  and  unresisting  she  lay  in  his 
embrace,  uttering  no  word ;  and  stooping,  he  kissed  her 
fiercely  —  her  lips,  her  eyes,  her  white  throat,  her  hair, 
and,  silent  still,  she  yielded  herself  to  his  caresses. 

"  You  are  mine,  Hermione,  mine  always  and  forever ! 
You  are  the  one  woman  I  long  for  —  the  wife  nature  in 
tended  for  me !  You  are  mine,  Hermione !  " 

Very  softly  she  answered,  her  eyes  closed : 

"  I  felt  at  the  first  there  was  a  gulf  dividing  us  —  and 


A  Fateful  Decision  249 

now  —  this  gulf  is  wid'  r  —  so  wide  it  can  never  be  crossed 
by  either  of  us.  Youi  orld  is  not  my  world,  after  all  — 
you  are  Geoffrey  Ravenslee  and  I  am  only  —  what  I  am. 
Newport  and  Fifth  Avenue  are  a  long  way  from  Hell's 
Kitchen  and  Tenth  Avenue,  and  they  can  never  —  never 
come  together.  And  I  —  am  a  thief's  sister,  so  please, 
please  loose  me  —  oh,  have  mercy  and  —  let  me  go." 

His  arms  fell  from  her  and,  shivering,  she  sank  beside 
the  table,  and  the  pale  agony  of  her  face  smote  him. 

"  But  you  love  me,  Hermione?  "  he  pleaded. 

"  If  I  had  only  known,"  she  sighed,  "  I  might  not  have 
learned  to  love  you  —  quite  so  much !  If  I  had  only 
known !  "  Her  voice  was  soft  and  low,  her  blue  eyes  wide 
and  tearless,  and  because  of  this,  he  trembled. 

"  Hermione,"  said  he  gently,  "  all  this  week  I  have  been 
planning  for  you  and  Arthur.  I  have  been  dreaming  of 
our  life  together,  yours  and  mine,  a  life  so  big,  so  won 
derful,  so  full  of  happiness  that  I  trembled,  sometimes, 
dreading  it  was  only  a  dream.  Dear,  the  gates  of  our 
paradise  are  open;  will  you  shut  me  out?  Must  I  go 
back  to  my  loneliness  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  lonely,  too ! "  she  murmured  brokenly. 
"  But  better,  oh,  far  better  loneliness  than  that  some  day 
—  "  she  paused,  her  lips  quivering. 

"  Some  day,  Hermione?  " 

"  You  should  find  that  you  had  married  not  only  a 
scrubwoman  but  —  the  sister  of  a  —  thief !  "  Suddenly 
she  sprang  to  her  feet,  her  clinging  arms  held  him  to  her 
bosom  and,  drawing  down  his  head,  she  pressed  her  mouth 
to  his;  holding  him  thus,  she  spoke,  her  voice  low  and 
quick  and  passionate: 

"  Oh,  my  love,  my  love !  I  do  love  you  with  every 
thought,  with  every  part  of  me  —  so  much,  so  very  much 
that  my  heart  is  breaking,  I  think.  But,  dearest,  my  love 
is  such  that  I  would  be  everything  fair  and  beautiful  for 
you,  everything  proud  and  good  and  noble  for  you  if  I 
could.  But  I  am  only  Hermy  Chesterton,  a  Tenth  Avenue 
girl,  and  —  my  brother  —  So  I  'm  going  to  send  you 


250          The  Definite  Object 

away,  back  to  your  own  world,  back  to  your  own  kind 
because  —  because  I  do  love  you  so !  Ah,  God,  never 
doubt  my  love,  but  —  you  must  go  —  " 

*'  Never,  Hermione,  never !  " 

"  You  must !  You  will,  I  know,  because  your  love  is  a 
big,  generous  love  —  because  you  are  chivalrous  and 
strong  and  gentle  —  because  I  beg  and  implore  you  if 
you  have  any  pity  for  me  —  go  —  " 

"But  why?-       Why?" 

"  Oh,  must  I  tell  you  that  —  can't  you  understand?  " 

"  Why  must  I  go,  Hermione  ?  " 

"  Because,"  she  murmured,  her  yearning  arms  close 
about  him,  her  face  close  hidden  against  his  breast,  "  be 
cause  I  '11  never  —  marry  you  —  now  —  but  I  love  you 
—  love  you  so  much  that  I  'm  afraid  —  ah,  not  of  you. 
So,  I  must  be  alone  —  quite  alone  —  to  fight  my  battle. 
And  now  —  now  that  I  've  shown  you  all  my  heart,  told 
you  all  my  weakness,  you'll  go  for  my  sake  —  just  for 
my  sake  —  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  I  '11  —  go !  "  he  answered  slowly. 

"  Away  from  here  —  to-night  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  hoarsely,  "  yes  !  " 

Then  Hermione  fell  suddenly  before  him  on  her  knees, 
and,  before  he  could  stay  her,  had  caught  his  hands,  kiss 
ing  them,  wetting  them  with  her  tears,  and  pressing  them 
passionately  to  her  bosom. 

"  I  knew,"  she  cried,  "  I  knew  that  you  were  strong  and 
gentle  and  —  good.  Good-by  —  oh,  my  love  —  good-by ! " 

"  Hermione,"  said  he,  kissing  her  bowed  head,  "  oh,  my 
Hermione,  I  love  you  with  a  love  that  will  die  only  when 
I  do.  I  want  you,  and  I  '11  never  lose  hope  of  winning 
you  —  some  day,  never  give  up  my  determination  to  marry 
you  —  never,  so  help  me  God !  " 

Then  swiftly  he  turned  away  but,  reaching  the  door, 
stooped  and  picked  up  M'Ginnis's  neckerchief  and,  recog 
nising  it,  crumpled  it  in  fierce  hand;  so,  with  it  clenched 
in  griping  fingers,  he  hurried  away  and  left  her  there 
upon  her  knees. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

HOW  GEOFFREY  RAVENSLEE  DEPARTED  FROM  HELI/S 
KITCHEN 

"WHAT,  back  again  already,  Mr.  Geoffrey?"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Trapes,  poking  her  head  around  the  kitchen  door,  as 
Ravenslee  entered  the  flat,  "back  so  soon?" 

"  Only  for  a  minute,  Mrs.  Trapes." 

"  Supper  '11  be  ready  soon  —  your  wedding  supper,  eh, 
Mr.  Geoffrey?  You  '11  have  it  here  with  me,  you  an' 
Hermy,  o'  course!  Smells  kind  o'  good,  don't  it?  " 

"  Delicious,  Mrs.  Trapes  !  " 

"  Delicious  is  the  word,  Mr.  Geoffrey  —  stooed  beef 
with  carrots  —  " 

"  And  onions,  Mrs.  Trapes  —  onions,  I  'm  sure?  " 

"  Well,  I  '11  not  deny  a  onion  here  an'  there,  Mr.  Geof 
frey  —  a  stoo  needs  'em." 

"  Ah,  I  knew  it !  "  sighed  Ravenslee.  "  I  grieve  that  I 
shan't  be  able  to  eat  it." 

"  Not  eat  —  what,  you  ?     Say,  y'  ain't  sick,  are  you  ?  " 

"  Not  in  body,  Mrs.  Trapes." 

"  Then  why  no  stoo?  " 

"  Because  I  shan't  be  here.  I  'm  going,  Mrs.  Trapes  — 
I  'm  leaving  Mulligan's  now  —  for  good  —  " 

"  Leavin'  —  y '  mean  with  Hermy  ?  " 

"  No  —  alone.     Good-by,  Mrs.  Trapes !  " 

"  My  land !  "  gasped  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  what  you  tellin* 
me?  " 

"  Good-by,  Mrs.  Trapes  !  " 

"But  why?     Oh,  dear  Lord,  what  is  it?     Who  —  " 

"  I  want  to  thank  you  —  for  all  your  kindness.  Good- 
bj!" 


252  The  Definite  Object 

As  one  in  a  dream  Mrs.  Trapes  extended  a  limp  hand 
and  stood  wide  of  eye  and  pale  of  cheek  to  watch  him  go ; 
and  as  he  descended  the  stairs,  her  look  of  helpless,  pained 
surprise  went  with  him.  Swiftly  he  strode  across  that 
familiar  court,  shoulders  squared,  chin  outthrust,  and 
eyes  that  glowed  ominously  in  his  pale  face  beneath  fierce- 
scowling  brows.  As  he  turned  into  Tenth  Avenue  there 
met  him  the  Spider. 

"  What  you  chasin'  this  time,  bo  ?  "  he  enquired. 

"  M'Ginnis." 

"  Then  you  're  sure  chasin'  trouble." 

"  That 's  what  I  want.    D'  you  know  where  he  is  ?  " 

"  Sure  I  do,  but  —  " 

The  Spider  paused,  drawing  in  his  breath  slowly,  as 
with  experienced  gaze  he  viewed  Ravenslee's  pale,  set  face 
—  the  delicate  nostrils  wide  and  quivering,  the  relentless 
mouth  and  burning  eyes  and  all  the  repressed  ferocity  of 
him  and,  drawing  back  a  step,  the  Spider  shook  his  head. 

"Bo,"  said  he,  "that's  jest  what  I  ain't  goin'  t'  tell 

ye." 

"  Very  well,  I  must  find  him." 

"  Don't !  "  said  the  Spider,  walking  on  beside  him,  "  if 
I  did  n't  think  a  whole  lot  o'  ye,  I  'd  lead  ye  t'  him." 

"  Oh  —  I  shall  find  him,  if  it  takes  me  all  night." 

"  An'  if  ye  do,  it  '11  be  murder,  I  'm  dead  sure  — ' 

"  Murder?  "  said  Ravenslee  with  a  flash  of  white  teeth. 
"  Well,  I  shall  certainly  kill  him  —  this  time !  " 

"Is  it  th'  Kid  again?" 

"No  —  oh,  no,  it's  just  for  my  own  satisfaction  — 
and  pleasure." 

"You  ain't  heeled,  are  ye?  This  ain't  goin'  t'  be  no 
gun-play  —  eh  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  n't  a  gun,  but  I  've  brought  his  — 
neckerchief." 

"  Sufferin'  Pete !  "  murmured  the  Spider  in  a  strangely 
awed  voice,  and  walked  on  in  silence,  chewing  viciously. 

"  Bo,"  said  he  at  last,  "  I  'm  thinkin'  th'  kindest  thing 
I  could  do  would  be  t'  slip  one  over  t'  your  point  while 


How  Geoffrey  Departed        253 

you  was  n't  lookin',  an'  puttin'  you  t'  sleep  a  bit  —  you 
want  soothin' !  Bud  '11  be  too  big  fer  you  or  any  other 
guy  t'  tackle  now ;  ye  see,  his  stock  's  rose  —  th'  Noo 
Jersey  p'lice  was  n't  strong  enough  t'  hold  him  —  " 

"  That 's  where  I  'm  different  —  I  can !  "  said  Ravens- 
lee,  opening  and  shutting  his  right  hand  convulsively. 
"  Yes,  I  '11  hold  him  till  his  last  kick  —  and  after !  " 

"  My  God !  "  exclaimed  the  Spider  softly,  and,  behold 
ing  that  clutching  right  hand,  he  edged  away. 

"  Where  you  goin'  t'  look  fer  him?  "  he  enquired  after 
a  while. 

"  O'Rourke's !  " 

"  Why  not  try  Raynor's  first?  "  and  he  nodded  to  a 
saloon  on  the  adjacent  corner. 

"  Because  I  'm  not  a  fool." 

"  Bo,  I  ain't  s'  sure  o'  that !  O'Rourke's  '11  be  full  o' 
tough  guys  t'night ;  all  th'  bunch  '11  be  there,  an'  if  Bud 
tips  'em  th'  say-so,  they  '11  snuff  your  light  out  quicker 
'n  winkin'." 

"  That  would  n't  be  such  a  hardship." 

"  Oh,  so  that 's  it,  hey?  You  got  a  kiss-me-an'-let-me- 
die  sort  o'  feelin',  hey?  Some  nice  bit  o'  stuff  been  turnin' 
ye  down,  bo?  " 

"  That  '11  be  about  enough !  "  said  Ravenslee,  quick  and 
fierce ;  and,  meeting  the  flash  of  his  eye,  the  Spider  edged 
away  again. 

"  Sufferin'  Mike !  "  said  he,  "  you  sure  ain't  doin'  the 
affable  chat  stunt  t'night !  " 

But  Ravenslee  strode  along  in  silence,  and  the  Spider, 
heeding  the  pale,  set  ferocity  of  his  expression,  grew 
troubled. 

"  Say,"  said  he  at  last,  "  this  don't  happen  t'  be  th' 
night  as  you  've  fixed  up  t'  smash  th'  gang,  does  it  ?  " 

"  No  —  only  M'Ginnis." 

"  S'posin'  he  ain't  at  O'Rourke's?  " 

"  He  '11  be  somewhere  else." 

"  Bo,  if  I  was  your  ma,  I  should  be  prayin'  you  don't 
find  Bud,  yes,  sir !  An'  I  should  pray  —  dam'  hard !  " 


254  The  Definite  Object 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  Eleventh  Avenue  and 
were  close  upon  the  saloon  when  Ravenslee  halted  sud 
denly,  for,  beneath  a  lamp  on  the  opposite  sidewalk,  he 
saw  M'Ginnis  in  talk  with  two  other  men. 

.Drawing  the  neckerchief  from  his  pocket,  Ravenslee 
crossed  over  and  tapped  M'Ginnis  on  the  arm,  who,  turn 
ing  about,  stared  into  a  pallid  face  within  a  foot  of  his 
own. 

"  What  th'  hell  —  "  he  began,  but  Ravenslee  cut  him 
short. 

"  You  left  this  behind  you,"  said  he,  thrusting  forward 
the  neckerchief,  "  so  I  've  brought  it  to  twist  around  that 
foul  throat  of  yours.  Now,  M'Ginnis  —  fight !  " 

Thrusting  the  neckerchief  into  his  pocket,  Ravenslee 
clenched  his  fists,  and,  saying  no  more,  they  closed  and 
fought  —  not  as  men,  but  rather  as  brute  beasts  eager 
to  maim  and  rend. 

M'Ginnis's  companions,  dumbfounded  by  the  sudden 
ferocity  of  it  all,  stood  awhile  inactive,  staring  at  those 
two  forms  that  lurched  and  swayed,  that  strove  and 
panted,  grimly  speechless.  Then,  closing  in,  they  waited 
an  opportunity  to  smite  down  M'Ginnis's  foe  from  behind. 
But  the  Spider  was  watching,  and,  before  either  of  them 
could  kick  or  strike,  his  fists  thudded  home  —  twice  — 
hard  blows  aimed  with  scientific  precision;  after  which, 
having  dragged  the  fallen  away  from  those  fierce-tram 
pling  feet,  he  stood,  quivering  and  tense,  to  watch  that 
desperate  encounter. 

Once  Ravenslee  staggered  back  from  a  vicious  flush-hit, 
and  once  M'Ginnis  spun  around  to  fall  upon  hands  and 
knees ;  then  they  clenched,  and  coming  to  the  ground  to 
gether,  fought  there,  rolling  to  and  fro  and  hideously 
twisted  together.  But  slowly  Ravenslee's  clean  living 
began  to  tell,  and  M'Ginnis,  wriggling  beneath  a  merciless 
grip,  uttered  inarticulate  cries  and  groaned  aloud.  And 
now  the  deadly  neckerchief  was  about  his  gasping  throat 
and  in  his  ears  his  conqueror's  fierce  laugh  —  lost  all  at 
once  in  a  roar  of  voices,  a  rush  of  trampling  feet. 


How  Geoffrey  Departed       255 

Wrenched  at  by  fierce  hands,  smitten  by  unseen  fists, 
Ravenslee  was  beaten  down  —  was  dimly  aware  of  the 
Spider's  long  legs  bestriding  him,  and  staggering  up 
through  a  tempest  of  blows,  hurled  himself  among  his 
crowding  assailants,  felled  one  with  his  right,  stopped 
another  with  his  left,  and,  as  the  press  broke  to  the  mad 
fury  of  his  onslaught,  felt  his  hand  wrenched  from  a  man's 
windpipe  and  heard  a  frantic  voice  that  panted: 

"  Leg  it,  bo,  leg  it.  Hully  Chee !  ain't  ye  had  enough?  " 
So,  mechanically,  he  set  off  at  a  run,  with  his  arm  still 
gripped  by  the  Spider.  "  Leg  it,  bo  —  leg  it  good,  or 
here  's  where  we  snuff  it  sure !  This  way  —  round  th'  cor 
ner;  only  keep  goin',  bo,  keep  go  in'." 

Very  fleetly  they  ran  with  their  pursuers  close  on  their 
heels,  across  open  lots,  over  fences,  along  tortuous  alleys, 
until  the  rush  and  patter  of  the  many  feet  died  away,  and 
the  Spider,  pulling  up  at  the  corner  of  a  dismal,  narrow 
street  hard  by  the  river,  stood  awhile  to  listen. 

"  Jiminy  Christmas !  but  you  're  some  hot  stuff  at  the 
swattin'  business  —  you  're  a  glutton,  you  are,  bo.  I  been 
in  one  or  two  scraps  meself,  but  I  never  seen  a  guy  so 
hungry  for  —  " 

"  Where  are  we?  " 

"  Thirteenth  an'  Twentieth." 

"Are  we  safe?  " 

"  F'  th'  time,  I  reckon.  But  all  Hell's  Kitchen  '11  be  out 
after  us  t'night,  sure.  So  I  guess  it 's  us  for  th'  immedi 
ate  hike  —  " 

"  Us?    Will  they  be  after  you,  too?  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  Spider,  smiling  down  grimly  at  his 
damaged  knuckles,  "  I  guess  yes !  Hell's  Kitchen  an' 
Tenth  Av'ner  's  got  t'  get  along  without  me  from  now  on, 
I  reckon.  They  ain't  losin'  much,  an'  I  ain't  leavin'  much, 
but—" 

"  Why  the  devil  had  you  got  to  follow  me  to-night  ?  " 
demanded  Ravenslee,  scowling. 

"  Bo,"  said  the  Spider  as  they  went  on  again,  "  there  's 
times  when  my  likin'  f 'r  you  gets  a  pain ;  there  's  times 


256  The  Definite  Object 

when  y'r  talk  gives  me  th'  earache,  an'  y'r  lovin'  looks  the 
willies.  I  ain't  lookin'  f'r  no  gratitood,  nor  yet  a  gold 
dinner-set  an'  loominated  address,  but,  not  ownin'  a  hide 
like  a  sole-leather  Saratoga,  I'll  jest  get  on  me  way  — 
S'  long!" 

"  Where  are  you  going?  " 

"  I  dunno,  but  —  I  'm  goin'  there,  right  now." 

But  as  the  Spider  turned  away,  his  hand  was  caught 
and  gripped,  and  Ravenslee  was  smiling;  his  features 
looked  a  bit  battered,  but  his  smile  was  pleasant  as  ever. 

"  Forgive  my  cursed  temper,  Spider.  I  owe  you  my  life 
again  and  —  I  ought  to  be  grateful,  I  suppose.  Forgive 
me,  I  'm  —  not  quite  myself  to-night." 

"  Sure  thingj "  said  the  Spider,  returning  his  grasp, 
"  but,  bo,  I  'm  kind  o'  wonderin'  in  me  little  mind  what 
Bud  's  f eelin'  like !  You  sure  swatted  him  good  an'  heavy. 
I  never  seen  cleaner  footwork,  an'  them  left  jabs  o* 
yours  —  " 

"  The  question  is,  how  do  you  feel,  Spider,  and  what 
are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

The  pugilist  scratched  his  rough  chin.  "  Well,  that 's 
what  gets  my  goat;  I  dunno  quite,  bo.  Y'  see,  I  shan't 
be  able  t'  get  no  more  fights  here  in  the  East  now,  not  wi' 
Bud  'n'  his  old  man  against  me  —  y'  see,  Bud's  old  man  's 
about  the  biggest  —  " 

"  I  wonder  if  you  'd  care  to  come  with  me  ?  " 

"Whaffor?" 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  I  need  another  chauffeur  and  —  " 

"  A —  what  ?  "  The  Spider  halted  under  a  lamp-post 
to  stare  at  Ravenslee  a  little  anxiously.  "  Say,  now,  take 
a  holt  of  ye'self  an'  jest  put  that  one  over  th'  plate  again 
—  you  need  a  —  what  ?  " 

"  Another  chauffeur." 

"Another  shuvver  —  another?  Bo,  y'  didn't  happen 
t'  get  a  soak  on  th'  bean  just  now,  did  ye?  " 

"  No." 

"  Well,  then,  I  guess  you  're  some  shook  up ;  what  you 
want 's  food,  right  now '  * 


How  Geoffrey  Departed       257 

"  Why,  yes,  now  you  mention  it,  I  'm  devilish  hungry," 
agreed  Ravenslee. 

"  Leave  it  t'  me,  bo  —  I  know  a  chewin'-j  oint  close  by 

—  soup,  joint,  sweets,  an'  coffee  an'  only  a  quarter  a  throw 

—  some  feed,  bo !     Shin  right  along,  I  '11  —  " 

"  No,  you  shall  come  home  and  dine  with  me." 

"  Home?"  repeated  the  Spider,  halting  to  stare  again; 
"  you  're  sure  talkin'  ramblin'  —  " 

"We  can  discuss  the  chauffeur's  job  then  —  " 

"  Shuvver?  "  said  the  Spider  uneasily.  "  But  what 's 
a  guy  like  you  want  with  a  shuvver?  " 

"  Well,  to  drive  my  car  —  and  —  " 

"  Car?"  said  the  Spider,  his  uneasiness  growing,  "  got 
a  car  now,  have  ye,  bo  ?  " 

"  I  rather  think  I  've  got  six." 

"  Sufferin'  Sam !  "  The  Spider  scratched  his  chin  while 
his  keen  eyes  roved  over  Ravenslee's  exterior  apprehen 
sively.  "  Say,  bo,  you  quite  sure  none  o'  th'  bunch  booted 
you  on  th'  dome  —  eh?  " 

"  Quite  sure." 

"  An'  yet  you  got  six  auter-mobiles.  I  say  —  you 
think  so." 

"  Now  I  think  again,  they  're  seven  with  the  newest 
racer." 

"  Say,  now,  jest  holt  still  a  minute !  Now,  swaller  twice, 
think  dam'  hard,  an'  tell  me  again !  You  got  how  many  ?  " 

"Seven!" 

"Got  any  thin'  else?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  a  few  things." 

"Tell  us  jest  one." 

"  Well,  a  yacht." 

"Oh,  a  yacht?" 

"  A  yacht." 

"  'S  'nuff,  bo,  's  'miff !  But  go  on  —  go  on,  get  it  all 
off  if  you  '11  feel  better  after.  Anythin'  more?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  about  twenty  or  thirty  houses  and  castles 
and  palaces  and  things  —  " 

"  That  settles  it  sure !  "  sighed  the  Spider.     "  You  're 


258          The  Definite  Object 

comin'  t'  see  a  doctor,  that 's  what !  Your  dome  's  sure 
got  bent  in  with  a  boot  or  somethin'." 

"  No,  Spider,  I  just  happen  to  be  born  the  son  of  a 
millionaire,  that 's  all." 

"  Think  o'  that,  now ! "  nodded  the  Spider,  "  a  million 
aire  now  —  how  nice !  An'  what  do  they  call  ye  at  home  ?  " 

"  Geoffrey  Ravenslee." 

"  How  much  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Spider,  falling  back  a 
step.  "  The  guy  as  went  ten  rounds  with  Dick  Dunoon 
at  th'  *  National  ? '  The  guy  as  won  th'  Auter-mobile 
Race?  Th'  guy  as  bought  up  Mulligan's  — you?" 

"  Why,  yes.  By  the  way,  I  sat  in  the  front  row  and 
watched  you  lick  Larry  McKinnon  at  'Frisco;  I  was 
afraid  you  were  going  to  recognise  me,  once  or  twice." 

"  Then,  you  —  you  have  got  a  yacht,  th'  big  one  as  lays 
off  Twenty-third  Street?  " 

"  Also  seven  cars ;  that 's  why  I  want  you  for  a 
chauffeur." 

"  Ho-ly  Gee !  "  murmured  the  dazed  Spider.  "  Well, 
say,  you  sure  have  got  me  goin' !  A  millionaire !  A  pea 
nut  cart !  A  yacht !  Well,  say,  I  —  I  guess  it 's  time  I 
got  on  me  way.  S'  long !  " 

"  No  you  don't,  my  Spider ;  you  're  coming  home  with 
me." 

"What  —  me?  Not  much  I  ain't  —  no,  sir!  I  ain't 
no  giddy  gink  t'  go  dinin'  with  millionaires  in  open-faced 
clo'es  —  not  me !  " 

"  But  you  're  coming  to  have  dinner  with  that  same 
peanut  man  who  learned  to  respect  you  because  you  were 
a  real,  white  man,  Spider  Connolly.  And  that 's  another 
reason  why  I  want  you  for  my  chauffeur." 

"  But—  say,  I  —  I  can't  shuv." 

"  Joe  shall  teach  you." 

"  Joe?     Y'  mean  —  Joe  Madden?  " 

"  He  '11  be  chauffeur  number  one  —  and  there  's  a  cross- 
town  car !  Come  on,  Spider !  Now  —  in  with  you !  " 


CHAPTER    XXXI 

IN    WHICH    SOAPY    TAKES    A    HAND 

O'ROURKE'S  was  full:  its  long  bar,  shaped  something  like 
the  letter  J,  supported  many  lounging  arms  and  elbows ; 
its  burnished  foot-rail  was  scraped  by  boots  of  many 
shapes  and  sizes ;  its  heavy  air,  thick  with  cigarette  smoke, 
hummed  with  many  voices.  In  one  corner,  a  remote  corner 
where  few  ventured  to  penetrate,  Soapy  leaned,  as  pallid 
and  noncommittal  as  ever,  while  Spike  poured  out  to  him 
the  story  of  his  woes. 

"  She  drove  me  out,  Soapy !  She  drove  me  away  from 
her !  "  he  repeated  for  the  hundredth  time.  The  boy  was 
unnaturally  flushed  and  bright  of  eye,  and  his  voice  was 
as  shaky  as  the  hand  which  fidgeted  with  his  whisky  glass ; 
and  the  sense  of  his  wrongs  was  great  and  growing  greater 
with  every  sip. 

"  She  told  me  t'  leave  her !  She  drove  me  away  from 
her—" 

"  So  you  come  here,  eh,  Kid?  "  drawled  Soapy,  pendent 
cigarette  smouldering.  "  You  skinned  over  here  t'  Bud 
f '  comfort,  an'  you  '11  sure  get  it,  Kid  —  in  a  glass !  " 

"  Bud  's  always  good  t'  me  —  " 

"  'S  right,  Kid,  's  right,  Bud  's  an  angel  sure,  though  he 
ain't  got  no  wings  yet.  Oh,  Bud  '11  comfort  ye  —  fre 
quent,  an'  by  an'  by  he  '11  take  ye  back  t'  Hermy  good  an' 
soused ;  you  can  get  your  own  back  that  ways  —  eh, 
Kid  ?  It  '11  sure  make  her  sit  up  an'  take  notice  when  she 
sees  ye  come  in  reelin'  an'  staggerin'  —  eh,  Kid  ?  An'  to 
morrow  you  '11  be  sick  mebbe,  an'  she  '11  have  ter  nurse 
ye  —  oh,  Bud  '11  fix  things  fer  ye,  I  guess."  Spike 
glowered  and  pushed  his  half-emptied  glass  further  away. 

"  I  ain't  goin'  home  soused !  "  he  muttered. 


260          The  Definite  Object 

"  No?  "  said  Soapy,  faintly  surprised.  "  Bud  '11  feel 
kind  o'  hurt,  won't  he?  " 

"  I  ain't  goin'  home  soused  —  not  for  Bud  nor  nobody 
else !  " 

"  Why,  then,  if  I  was  you,  Kid,  I  should  beat  it  before 
Bud  comes  in." 

"  I  guess  I  will,"  said  Spike,  rising. 

But  now  was  sudden  uproar  of  voices  in  the  street  hard 
by,  a  running  and  trampling  of  feet,  and,  the  swing  doors 
opening,  a  group  of  men  appeared,  bearing  among  them 
a  heavy  burden ;  and  coming  to  the  quiet  corner  they  laid 
M'Ginnis  there.  Battered,  bloody,  and  torn  he  lay,  his 
handsome  features  swollen  and  disfigured,  his  clothes  dusty 
and  dishevelled,  while  above  him  and  around  him  men 
stooped  and  peered  and  whispered. 

"  Why,  it 's  —  it 's  —  Bud !  "  stammered  Spike,  shrink 
ing  away  from  that  inanimate  form,  "  my  God !  It 's  — 
Bud!" 

"  'S  right,  Kid !  "  nodded  Soapy  imperturbably,  hands 
in  pockets  and,  though  his  voice  sounded  listless  as  ever,  his 
eyes  gleamed  evilly,  and  the  dangling  cigarette  quivered 
and  stirred. 

"  Ain't  —  dead,  is  he?  "  some  one  questioned. 

"  Dead  —  not  much !  "  answered  Soapy,  "  guess  it 's 
goin'  to  take  more  'n  that  t'  make  Bud  a  stiff  'un.  Be 
sides,  Bud  ain't  goin'  t'  die  that  way,  no,  not  —  that  way, 
I  reckon.  Dead?  Watch  this!"  So  saying,  he  reached 
Spike's  half-emptied  glass  from  the  bar  and,  not  troubling 
to  stoop,  poured  the  raw  spirit  down  upon  M'Ginnis's 
pale,  blood-smirched  face. 

"Dead?"  said  Soapy.  "Well,  I  guess  not  —  look  at 
him !  " 

And,  sure  enough,  M'Ginnis  stirred,  groaned,  opened 
swollen  eyelids  and,  aided  by  some  ready  arm,  sat  up 
feebly.  Then  he  glanced  up  at  the  ring  of  peering  faces 
and  down  upon  his  rent  and  dusty  person,  and  fell  to  a 
sudden,  fierce  torrent  of  curses ;  cursing  thus,  his  strength 
seemed  to  return  all  at  once,  for  he  sprang  to  his  feet 


Soapy  Takes  a  Hand          261 

and  with  clenched  fists  drove  through  the  crowd,  and  lift 
ing  a  flap  in  the  bar,  opened  a  door  beyond  and  was  gone. 

"  No,"  said  Soapy,  shaking  his  head,  "  I  guess  Bud 
ain't  dead  —  yet,  fellers.  I  wonder  who  gave  him  that 
eye,  Kid?  An'  his  mouth  too!  Did  ye  pipe  them  split 
lips !  Kind  o'  painful,  I  guess.  An'  a  couple  o'  teeth 
knocked  out  too !  Some  punchin',  Kid !  An'  Bud  kind 
o'  fancied  them  nice,  white  teeth  of  his  a  whole  heap !  " 

Here  the  bartender  glanced  toward  the  corner  where 
they  stood,  and,  lifting  an  eyebrow,  jerked  his  thumb  at 
the  door  behind  him  with  the  words:  "Kid,  I  reckon  Bud 
wants  ye." 

For  a  moment  Spike  hesitated^  then,  lifting  the  mahog 
any  flap,  crossed  the  bar,  and  opened  the  door. 

"  Guess  I  '11  come  along,  Kid,"  and,  hands  in  pockets, 
Soapy  followed. 

They  found  M'Ginnis  sprawling  at  a  table  and  scowling 
at  the  knuckles  of  his  bruised  right  hand  while  at  his 
elbow  were  a  bottle  and  two  glasses.  He  had  washed  the 
blood  and  dirt  from  him,  had  brushed  and  straightened 
his  dusty  garments,  but  he  could  n't  hide  the  cuts  and 
bruises  that  disfigured  his  face,  nor  his  scratched  and 
swollen  throat. 

"What  you  here  for?"  he  demanded,  as  Soapy  closed 
the  door,  "  did  n't  send  for  you,  did  I?  " 

"  No,  that 's  why  I  come,  Bud." 

"But,  say,  Bud,  what  —  what's  been  th'  matter?" 
stammered  Spike,  his  gaze  upon  M'Ginnis's  battered  face, 
"  who  's  been  —  " 

"  Matter  ?  Nothin' !  I  had  a  bit  of  a  rough-house  as 
I  come  along  —  " 

"  'S  right,"  nodded  Soapy,  "  you  sure  look  it !  Never 
seen  a  fatter  eye  —  " 

"  Well,  what  you  got  t'  beef  about?  " 

"Nothin',  Bud,  only  —  " 

"  Only  what?  " 

"  It 's  kind  o'  tough  you  losin'  them  couple  o'  teeth  — 
or  is  it  three?  " 


262          The  Definite  Object 

M'Ginnis  turned  on  him  with  a  snarl.  "  A-r-r-,  you  — ! 
Some  day  I  'm  goin'  t'  kick  the  insides  out  o'  ye !  " 

"  Some  day,  Bud,  sure.  I  '11  be  waitin' !  Meantime 
why  not  get  some  doctor-guy  t'  put  ye  face  back  in  shape 
—  gee,  I  hate  t'  see  ye  —  you  look  like  a  butcher's  shop ! 
An'  them  split  lips  pains  some,  I  guess !  " 

Here,  while  M'Ginnis  choked  in  impotent  rage,  Soapy 
lit  a  fresh  cigarette  from  the  butt  of  the  last  and  held  out 
the  packet. 

"Try  a  coffin-nail,  Bud?  No?  Well,  I  guess  y' 
could  n't  smoke  good  with  a  mouth  on  ye  like  that." 

"  Who  did  it,  Bud?  "  questioned  Spike  eagerly.  "  Who 
was  it?  " 

"  Hush  up,  Kid,  hush  up ! "  said  Soapy,  viewing 
M'Ginnis's  cuts  and  bruises  with  glistening  eyes.  "  I 
guess  that  guy  's  layin'  around  somewheres  waitin'  f'r  th' 
coroner  —  Bud  would  n't  let  him  make  such  a  holy  mess 
of  his  face  an'  get  away  with  it  —  not  much !  Bud  's  a 
killer,  I  know  that  —  don't  I,  Bud?  " 

"  You  close  up  that  dog's  head  o'  yours,  Soapy,  or 
by  —  " 

"  'S  all  right,  Bud,  's  all  right.  Don't  get  peeved ;  I  '11 
close  up  tighter  'n  a  clam,  only  —  it 's  kinder  tough 
about  them  teeth  —  " 

"  Are  ye  goin'  t'  cut  it  out  or  shall  —  " 

"  Aw,  calm  down,  Bud,  calm  down !  Take  a  drink ;  it  '11 
do  ye  good."  And  filling  a  glass  with  rye  whisky,  Soapy 
set  it  before  M'Ginnis,  who  cursed  him,  took  it  up,  and 
turned  to  Spike. 

"  Fill  it  up,  Kid,"  he  commanded. 

"  Not  me,  Bud,  I  —  I  ain't  here  for  that,"  said  Spike. 
"  I  come  t'  tell  ye  as  some  dirty  guy  's  been  an'  blown  th' 
game  on  me  t'  Hermy ;  she  —  she  knows  everything,  an' 
to-night  she  —  drove  me  away  from  her  —  " 

"  Did  she,  Kid,  oh,  did  she  ?  "  said  M'Ginnis,  a  new  note 
of  eagerness  in  his  voice.  "  Drove  ye  out  onto  th'  streets, 
Kid?  That 's  dam'  hard  on  you!  " 

"  Yes,  Bud,  I  —  guess  she  —  don't  want  me  around  —  " 


Soapy  Takes  a  Hand          263 

"  Kind  o'  looks  that  way ! "  nodded  M'Ginnis,  and  fill 
ing  Spike's  glass,  he  put  it  into  the  boy's  unwilling  fingers. 
"  Take  a  drink,  Kid ;  ye  sure  need  it !  "  said  he. 

"  'S  right,"  murmured  Soapy,  "  told  ye  Bud  'ud  com 
fort  ye,  didn't  I,  Kid?" 

"  So  Hermy  's  drove  ye  away? "  said  M'Ginnis, 
"  throwed  ye  out  —  eh  ?  " 

"  She  sure  has,  Bud,  an'  I  —  Oh,  I  'm  miserable  as 
hell!" 

"  Why,  then,  get  some  o'  Bud's  comfort  into  ye,  Kid," 
murmured  Soapy.  "  Lap  it  up  good,  Kid ;  there  's  plenty 
more  —  in  th'  bottle !  " 

"  Let  him  alone,"  growled  M'Ginnis,  "  he  don't  want 
you  buttin'  in !  " 

"  'S  right,  too,  Bud !  "  nodded  Soapy,  "  he  's  got  you, 
ain't  he?  An'  you  —  got  him,  ain't  you?  " 

"  I  did  n't  think  Hermy  'ud  ever  treat  me  —  like  this  !  " 
said  Spike  tearfully. 

"  You  mean  —  throwin'  ye  out  into  th'  streets,  Kid  ? 
Why,  I  been  expectin'  it !  " 

"  Expectin'  it  ?  "  repeated  Spike,  setting  down  his  glass 
and  staring,  "  why?  " 

"  Well,  she  's  a  girl,  ain't  she,  an'  they  're  all  th'  same, 
I  reckon  —  " 

"  An'  Bud  knows  all  about  girls,  Kid ! "  murmured 
Soapy.  "  Bud  's  wise  t'  all  their  tricks  —  ain't  you, 
Bud?" 

"  But  whatcher  mean  ?  "  cried  Spike.  "  What  ye  mean 
about  expectin'  it?  " 

"  Well,  she  don't  want  ye  no  more,  does  she  ?  "  answered 
M'Ginnis,  his  bruised  hands  fierce  clenched,  his  voice 
hoarse  and  thick  with  passion.  "  She  's  got  some  one  else 
now  —  ain't  she  ?  She  's  —  in  love  —  ain't  she  ?  She  's  all 
waked  up  an'  palpitatin'  for  —  for  that  dam'  —  "  he 
choked,  and  set  one  hand  to  his  scratched  throat. 

"  What  d'  ye  mean,  Bud?  " 

"  Ah !  "  said  Soapy,  softer  than  before,  "  I  'm  on,  Bud ; 
you  put  me  wise !  He  means,  Kid,  as  Hermy  's  in  love  with 


264  The  Definite  Object 

th'  guy  as  has  just  been  punchin'  hell  out  of  him  —  he 
means  your  pal  Geoff."  With  a  hoarse,  strangling  cry, 
M'Ginnis  leapt  up,  his  hand  flashed  behind  him,  and  —  he 
stood  suddenly  very  still,  staring  into  the  muzzle  of  the 
weapon  Soapy  had  levelled  from  his  hip. 

"  Aw,  quit  it,  Bud,  quit  it,"  he  sighed,  "  it  ain't  come 
t'  that  —  yet.  Besides,  the  Kid  's  here,  so  loose  ye  gun, 
Bud.  No,  give  it  t'  me ;  you  're  a  bit  on  edge  t'night,  I 
guess,  an'  it  might  go  off  an'  break  a  glass  or  somethin'. 
So  gimme  ye  gun,  Bud.  That 's  it !  Now  we  can  sit  an' 
talk  real  sociable,  can't  we?  Now  listen,  Bud  —  what 
you  want  is  t'  get  your  own  back  on  this  guy  Geoff,  an' 
what  th'  Kid  wants  is  t'  show  his  sister  as  he  ain't  a  kid, 
an'  what  I  want  is  t'  give  ye  both  a  helpin'  hand  —  " 

But  while  M'Ginnis  stood  scowling  at  the  imperturbable 
speaker,  Spike  rose,  a  little  unsteadily,  and  turned  to  the 
door. 

"  I  '11  be  gettin'  on  me  way,  Bud,"  said  he. 

"Whereto?" 

"  Home." 

"  What !    Back  t'  Hermy?    After  she  turned  ye  out?  " 

"  But  I  —  I  got  t'  go  somewheres  —  " 

"  Well,  you  stay  right  here  with  me,  Kid ;  I  '11  fix  ye 
up  all  right  —  " 

"  'S  right,  Kid !  "  nodded  Soapy.  "  Bud  '11  fix  ye  all 
right,  same  as  I  said ;  we  '11  have  in  another  bottle  when 
that 's  empty !  " 

"  What  about  your  sister,  Kid  ?  "  demanded  M'Ginnis 
fiercely.  "  What  about  Hermy  an'  this  swell  guy  ?  Are 
y'  goin'  t'  sit  around  an'  do  nothin'?  " 

"  But  Geoff  's  goin'  t'  marry  her." 

"Marry  her!  What,  him?  A  millionaire  marry  your 
sister?  You  think  so,  an'  she  thinks  so,  but  I  know 
different !  " 

"  But  Hermy  ain't  that  sort.    Hermy  's  —  good  —  " 

"  Sure,  but  this  guy  's  got  her  fazed  —  she  thinks  he  's 
square  all  right  —  she  '11  trust  him  an'  then  —  s'posin* 
he  ain't?  " 


Soapy  Takes  a  Hand          265 

"I  —  I  ain't  s'posin'  riothin'  like  that !  "  said  Spike, 
gulping  his  whisky. 

"  Well,  s'posin'  he  's  been  meetin'  her  —  in  a  wood  —  on 
the  sly  —  eh?  S'posin'  they  been  huggin'  an'  kissin'  —  " 

"  Say  now  —  you  cut  that  out  —  "  stammered  Spike, 
his  voice  thick.  "  I  tell  ye  —  she  ain't  —  that  kind." 

"  S'posin',"  continued  Bud,  refilling  the  lad's  glass, 
"s'posin'  I  could  show  'em  to  ye  in  a  wood  —  eh?  Ah! 
What  she  want  t'  meet  him  in  a  wood  for,  anyway  —  nice 
an'  quiet,  eh?  " 

"  Say  now,  Bud,  I  —  I  ain't  goin'  t'  listen  t'  no  more !  " 
said  Spike,  rising  and  clutching  at  the  table,  "I  —  I  'm 
goin'  home !  "  And  swaying  on  unsteady  feet,  he  turned 
to  the  door,  but  M'Ginnis  gripped  his  shoulder. 

"  Wait  a  bit,  Kid." 

"  N-no,  I  'm  —  goin'  home  —  see !  "  said  Spike,  setting 
his  j  aw  obstinately,  "  I  'm  goin'  —  r-right  now !  " 

"That's  just  what  you  ain't!"  snarled  M'Ginnis. 
"  Sit  down !  Hermy  's  only  a  work-girl  —  don't  forget 
that,  Kid  —  an'  this  guy  's  a  millionaire.  I  guess  he 
thinks  Hermy  '11  do  —  till  he  gets  tired  of  her  an'  —  then 
what?  " 

"  He  —  told  me  he  's  goin'  t'  marry  her !  "  said  Spike 
slowly,  speaking  with  an  effort,  "  an'  I  guess  Geoff  ain't 
a  liar.  An'  I  wanter  —  go  home." 

"Home  —  after  she  throwed  ye  out?  Ain't  ye  got 
no  pride?  " 

"  Aw,  say,  Bud,"  sighed  Soapy,  "  I  guess  d'  Kid  ain't 
soused  enough  for  pride  yet ;  sling  another  glass  int'  him 
—  that  '11  fixjhim  good,  I  reckon." 

"  I  ain't  g-goin'  t'  drink  no  more,"  said  Spike,  resting 
heavy  head  between  his  hands,  "  I  guess  I  '11  b-beat  it 
home,  f'lers." 

"  Bud,"  suggested  Soapy,  "  ain't  it  about  time  you  rang 
in  little  Maggie  on  him?  " 

M'Ginnis  whirled  upon  the  speaker,  snarling,  but  Soapy, 
having  lighted  another  cigarette,  nudged  Spike  with  a 
sharp  elbow. 


266          The  Definite  Object 

"  Kid,"  said  he,  "  Bud  's  goin'  t'  remind  ye  of  little 
Maggie  Finlay  —  you  remember  little  Maggie  as  drowned 
herself."  Spike  lifted  a  pale  face  and  stared  from  the 
placid  Soapy  to  scowling  Bud  and  shrank  away. 

"  Yes,"  he  whispered  hoarsely,  "  yes  —  I  '11  never  for 
get  how  she  looked  —  pale,  so  pale  an'  still,  an'  th'  water 
—  runnin'  out  of  her  brown  curls  —  I  —  I  '11  never 
forget  —  " 

"  Well,"  growled  M'Ginnis,  "  watch  out  Hermy  don't 
end  th'  same  way." 

"  No !  "  cried  Spike.     "  Oh,  my  God  —  no !  " 

"  What 's  she  meetin'  this  millionaire  in  a  wood  for  — 
on  the  sly?  " 

"  She  don't !    Hermy  ain't  like  that." 

"  I  tell  ye  she  does ! "  cried  M'Ginnis,  "  an'  him  kissin' 
an'  squeezin'  her  an'  —  nobody  by  —  " 

"  It 's  a  lie,  Bud  —  she  —  she  would  n't !  " 

"  S'posin'  I  could  show  ye?  S'pose  you  see  him  there  — 
waitin'  for  her  - —  " 

"  If  —  if  he  means  any  harm  t'  Hermy,  I  —  I  '11  kill 
him !  " 

"  Aw  —  you  would  n't  have  the  nerve,  Kid !  " 

"  I  'd  shoot  him  dead  —  by  God,  I  would !  " 

"  You  ain't  man  enough,  Kid." 

"  You  g-give  me  a  gun  an'  see.  I  'd  shoot  any  one  t' 
save  my  sister  from  —  th'  river.  Oh,  my  God  —  I  —  I  'd 
die  for  her,  an'  she  don't  love  me  no  more !  "  And  leaning 
his  head  upon  his  arms,  Spike  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 
M'Ginnis  watched  him  awhile,  then,  filling  the  boy's  glass, 
clapped  him  on  the  shoulder  and  held  it  to  his  lips. 

"  Neck  this,  Kid,"  said  he,  "  neck  it  all  —  so,  that 's 
good,  ain't  it  ?  To-morrow  evenin'  I  '11  take  ye  where  they 
meet ;  maybe  you  '11  ketch  him  waitin'  for  her  —  but  in 
stead  of  Hermy  an'  kisses  there  '11  be  you  an'  me,  hey? 
Will  ye  come?  " 

"  S-sure  I  will  if  —  you  '11  gimme  —  your  gun." 

"  Pshaw,  Kid  —  what 's  a  kid  like  you  want  with  a 
gun?" 


Soapy  Takes  a  Hand  267 

"  T'  shoot  him  —  " 

"  Eh  ?     What  ?     D'  ye  mean  —  ?  " 

"  If  he  's  after  my  sister,  I  '11  —  kill  him !  I  will,  by 
God,  I  will !  " 

"  'S  right,"  nodded  Soapy,  staring  into  the  boy's  drawn 
face,  "  's  right,  Bud ;  if  ever  I  see  a  killer  —  th'  Kid  's 
sure  it !  " 

Slowly  the  glare  died  out  of  Spike's  eyes,  his  body 
drooped,  and  sighing,  he  pillowed  his  heavy  head  upon 
the  table  and  fell  into  a  drunken  slumber.  For  a  while 
the  two  men  sat  there  hearkening  to  his  stertorous  breath" 
ing,  then  Soapy  laughed  soft  and  mirthlessly.  "  You  sure 
got  th'  Kid  all  worked  up  an'  mad  enough  t'  —  kill,  eh, 
Bud  ?  If  he  does  get  up  against  this  guy  Geoff  —  this 
guy  Geoff 's  sure  goin'  t'  cash  in  —  sudden.  Conse 
quently,  I  guess  you  '11  be  wantin'  paper  an'  pencil  —  both 
here !  " 

"  What  th'  hell  —  "  began  M'Ginnis. 

"  Telegram,  Bud.  You  're  goin' t'  frame  up  a  nice  little 
telegram  t'  this  guy  Geoff  —  oh,  you  sure  are  th'  fly 
gazebo !  A  nice  little  message  —  *  meet  me  t'morrow  in 
the  wood  at  sunset  —  Hermy?'  Somethin'  nice  'n'  ro 
mantic  like  that  '11  bring  him  on  th'  run  —  eh,  Bud  ?  Then, 
'stead  of  Hermy,  comes  you  an'  th'  Kid,  eh,  Bud?  An' 
'stead  of  kisses,  this  guy  Geoff  gets  a  lead  pill  —  eh,  Bud? 
Th'  Kid  can't  miss  if  you  get  him  close  enough.  It  sure 
is  some  scheme,  Bud ;  I  could  n't  have  thought  it  out  better 
myself.  Paper  'n'  pencil,  Bud  —  get  busy  an'  I  '11  sashay 
over  an'  send  it  off  for  ye  —  t'night." 

During  Soapy's  unusually  long  speech,  M'Ginnis  sat 
staring  at  him  under  frowning  brows,  but  now  he  turned 
and  scowled  down  at  the  sheet  of  paper,  picked  up  the 
pencil,  laid  it  by  again  and  sat  opening  and  shutting  his 
big  hands,  while  Soapy,  lighting  another  cigarette, 
watched  him  furtively.  When  at  last  he  spoke,  his  voice 
was  thick,  and  he  did  n't  lift  his  scowling  gaze. 

"  Send  that  kid  Larry  t'  me,  an'  say  —  you  don't  have 
t'  come  back." 


268  The  Definite  Object 

"  All  right,  Bud,  all  right  —  only  you  'd  best  send  two 
telegrams  t'  make  sure  —  one  t'  Fift'  Av,  an'  one  t'  his 
place  up  th'  river.  S'  long,  Buddy !  " 

Some  fifteen  minutes  later,  the  boy  Larry,  stepping  out 
of  O'Rourke's,  was  swung  to  the  wall  in  Soapy's  grip. 

"  Aw  —  say,  cheese  it  now !    Is  that  you,  Soapy?  " 

"  'S  right,  my  bucko.  Fork  out  that  telegram  — 
quick !  " 

"  Aw,  say,  what  yer  mean  —  'n'  say,  Bud  told  me  to 
hustle,  'n'  say  —  " 

"  Dig  it  out  —  quick !  "  said  Soapy,  the  dangling  cigar 
ette  glowing  fiercely.  "  I  want  it —  see?  " 

"  But  say  — "  whimpered  Larry,  "  what  '11  Bud 
say  —  " 

"  Nothin' !  Bud  ain't  goin'  t'  know.  You  take  this 
instead  —  take  it !  "  And  Soapy  thrust  another  folded 
paper  into  the  boy's  limp  hand,  who  took  it  whimpering. 

"  Bud  tol'  me  t'  bring  it  back." 

"  Well,  you  tell  him  you  lost  it." 

"  Not  much  —  I  '11  skin  right  back  an'  tell  him  you 
pinched  it." 

"  You  won't,  my  sport,  you  won't !  "  said  Soapy,  and 
speaking,  moved  suddenly ;  and  the  boy,  uttering  a  gasp 
of  terror,  shrank  cowering  with  the  muzzle  of  Soapy's 
deadly  weapon  against  the  pit  of  his  stomach.  "  You 
ain't  goin'  t'  say  a  word  t'  Bud  nor  nobody  else,  are  ye, 
Larry  boy,  are  ye?  " 

«  No  —  no  —  " 

"  Because  if  ye  ever  did,  old  sport,  I  should  give  it  ye 
there  —  right  there  in  the  turn-turn,  see?  Now  chase  off, 
an'  see  ye  get  them  addresses  right.  S'  long,  Larry  boy, 
be  good  now !  "  When  the  boy  had  scudded  away,  Soapy 
opened  the  paper  and  scanned  the  words  of  M'Ginnis's 
telegram  and,  being  alone,  smiled  as  he  glanced  through  it. 

"  You  got  th'  Kid,  Bud,"  he  murmured,  "  you  got  th' 
Kid  —  but  if  th'  Kid  gets  the  guy  Geoff,  why  —  I  've  sure 
got  you,  Bud  —  got  ye  sure  as  hell,  Bud !  " 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

OF    HAEMONY    AND    DISCORD 

MR.  BRIMBERLY,  comfortably  ensconced  in  Young  R.'s 
favourite  armchair,  nodded  ponderously  and  beat  time 
to  the  twang  of  Mr.  Jenkins's  banjo,  whereto  Mr.  Stevens 
sang  in  a  high-pitched  and  rather  shaky  tenor  the  latest 
musical  success  yclept  "  Sammy."  Thus,  Mr.  Jenkins 
strummed,  Mr.  Stevens  trilled,  and  Mr.  Brimberly  alter 
nately  beat  the  tempo  with  a  plump  white  finger  and 
sipped  his  master's  champagne  until,  having  emptied  his 
glass,  he  turned  to  the  bottle  on  the  table  beside  him, 
found  that  empty  also,  crossed  to  the  two  bottles  on  the 
mantel,  found  them  likewise  void  and  had  tried  the  two 
upon  the  piano  with  no  better  success,  when,  the  song 
being  ended,  Mr.  Jenkins  struck  in  with : 

"  All  dead  men,  Brim !  Six  of  'em  between  us  —  not 
bad  going,  what?  " 

"  And  very  good  fizz  too,  on  the  whole !  "  added  Mr. 
Stevens.  "  I  always  sing  better  on  champagne.  But 
come,  Brim  my  boy,  I  've  obliged  with  everything  I  know, 
and  Jenk,  'e  's  played  everything  'e  knows,  and  I  must  say 
with  great  delicacy  an'  f eelin'  —  now  it 's  your  turn  — 
sing  somethin'." 

"  Well,"  answered  Mr.  Brimberly,  squinting  at  an  empty 
bottle,  "  I  used  to  know  a  very  good  song  once,  called 
*  Let 's  drownd  all  our  sorrers  and  cares.'  But  good 
'eavens !  we  can't  drownd  'em  in  empty  bottles,  can  we?  " 

"  Oh,  very  good !  "  chuckled  Mr.  Jenkins,  "  oh,  very 
prime !  If  I  might  suggest,  there  's  nothin'  like  port  — 
port 's  excellent  tipple  for  drowndin'  sorrer  and  downing 
care —  what?  " 


270          The  Definite  Object 

"  Port,  sir?  "  repeated  Mr.  Brimberly,  "  we  'ave  enough 
port  in  our  cellars  to  drownd  every  sorrer  an'  care  in 
Noo  York  City.  I  'm  proud  of  our  port,  sir,  and  I  'm 
reckoned  a  bit  of  a  connysoor  —  " 

"  Ah,  it  takes  a  eddicated  palate  to  appreciate  good 
port !  "  nodded  Mr.  Jenkins  loftily,  "  a  eddicated  palate 

—  what?" 

"  Cert'nly !  "  added  Mr.  Stevens,  "  an'  here  's  two  pal 
ates  waitin',  waitin'  an'  ready  to  appreciate  till  daylight 
doth  appear." 

"  There  's  nothin'  like  port ! "  sighed  Mr.  Brimberly, 
setting  aside  the  empty  champagne  bottle,  "  nothin'  like 
port,  and  there 's  Young  Har  'ardly  can  tell  it  from 
sherry  —  oh,  the  Goth !  the  Vandyle !  All  this  good  stuff 
would  be  layin'  idle  if  it  was  n't  for  me !  Young  Har  ain't 
got  no  right  to  be  a  millionaire ;  'is  money  's  wasted  on 
'im  —  he  neglects  'is  opportoonities  shameful  —  eh,  shame 
ful  !  What  I  say  is  —  what 's  the  use  of  bein'  a  million 
aire  if  you  don't  air  your  millions?  " 

Hereupon  Mr.  Jenkins  rocked  himself  to  and  fro  over 
his  banjo  in  a  polite  ecstasy  of  mirth. 

"  Oh,  by  Jove !  "  he  gasped,  "  if  that  ain't  infernal 
clever,  I  '11  be  shot !  Oh,  doocid  clever  I  call  it  —  what !  " 

"  Er  —  by  the  way,  Brim,"  said  Mr.  Stevens,  his  glance 
roving  toward  the  open  window,  "  where  does  he  happen 
to  be  to-night  ?  " 

"  Where?  "  repeated  Mr.  Brimberly,  fingering  a  slightly 
agitated  whisker,  "  where  is  Young  Har,  sir?  Lord,  Mr. 
Stevens,  if  you  ask  me  that,  I  throws  up  my  'ands,  and 
I  answers  you  —  'eavens  knows !  Young  Har  is  a  un 
known  quantity,  sir  —  a  will  o'  the  wisp,  or  as  you  might 
say,  a  ignus  fattus.  At  this  pre-cise  moment  'e  may  be 
in  Jerusalem  or  Jericho  or —  a-sittin'  outside  on  the  lawn 

—  which  Gawd  forbid !     But  there,  don't  let 's  talk  of  it. 
Come  on  down  into  the  cellars,  and  we  '11  bring  up  enough 
port  to  drownd  sorrer  an'  care  all  night." 

"  With  all  my  heart !  "  said  Mr.  Jenkins,  laying  aside 
his  banjo. 


Of  Harmony  and  Discord      271 

"  Ditto,  indeed !  "  nodded  Mr.  Stevens,  slipping  a  hand 
in  his  host's  arm,  and  thus  linked  together  they  made  their, 
way  out  of  the  room. 

Scarcely  had  their  hilarious  voices  died  away  when  a 
muscular  brown  hand  parted  the  hangings  of  an  open 
window,  and  Geoffrey  Ravenslee  climbed  into  the  room. 
His  rough  clothes  and  shabby  hat  were  powdered  with 
dust,  and  he  looked  very  much  out  of  place  amid  his  lux 
urious  surroundings  as  he  paused  to  glance  swiftly  from 
the  bottles  that  decorated  the  carved  mantel  to  those  on 
table  and  piano.  Then,  light-treading,  he  crossed  the 
room,  and  as  the  hilarious  three  were  heard  approaching, 
vanished  in  his  turn. 

"  'Ere  we  are,  Jubilee  Port !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Brimberly, 
setting  down  two  cobwebbed  bottles  with  elaborate  care, 
"  obleege  me  with  the  corkscrew,  somebody." 

"  Won't  forget  as  you  promised  us  a  song,  Brim !  " 
said  Mr.  Jenkins,  passing  the  necessary  implement. 

"  Oh,  I  won't  disappoint  ye,"  answered  Mr.  Brimberly, 
drawing  the  cork  with  a  practised  hand ;  "  my  father  were 
a  regular  songster,  a  fair  carollin'  bird  'e  were,  sir." 

"'Ow  about  'Knocked  'em  in  the  Old  Kent  Road'?" 
Mr.  Stevens  suggested. 

"  Sir !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Brimberly,  pausing  in  the  act  of 
filling  the  glasses,  "  that 's  rather  a  —  a  low  song,  ain't 
it?  What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Jenkins?" 

"  Low?  "  answered  Mr.  Jenkins,  "  it  5s  as  low  as  —  as 
mud,  sir.  I  might  say  it 's  infernal  vulgar  —  what  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  don't  care  for  it  myself,"  Mr.  Stevens  ad 
mitted  rather  humbly,  "it  was  merely  a  suggestion." 

"  With  your  good  favour,"  said  Mr.  Brimberly,  after  a 
tentative  sip  at  his  glass,  "  I  '11  sing  you  a  old  song  as 
was  a  rare  favourite  of  my  father's." 

"Why,  then,"  said  Mr.  Jenkins,  taking  up  his  banjo, 
"  oblige  us  with  the  key." 

"  The  key,  sir  ?  "  answered  Mr.  Brimberly,  pulling  down 
his  waistcoat,  "  what  key  might  you  mean?  " 

"  The  key  of  the  note  dominant,  Brim." 


272          The  Definite  Object 

Mr.  Brimberly  stared  and  felt  for  his  whisker. 

"  Note  dominant,"  he  murmured ;  "  I  don't  think  m j 
song  has  anything  of  that  sort  —  " 

"  Oh,  well,  just  whistle  a  couple  o'  bars." 

"  Bars,"  said  Mr.  Brimberly,  shaking  his  head,  "  bars, 
sir,  is  things  wherewith  I  do  not  'old;  bars  are  the  'aunt 
of  the  'umble  'erd,  sir  —  " 

"  No,  no,  Brim,"  explained  Mr.  Stevens,  "  Jenk  merely 
means  you  to  'um  the  air." 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure,  now  I  appre'end !  I  '11  'um  you  the 
hair  with  pleasure." 

Mr.  Brimberly  cleared  his  throat  vigorously  and  there 
after  emitted  certain  rumbling  noises,  whereat  Mr.  Jen 
kins  cocked  a  knowing  head. 

"  C  sharp,  I  think?  "  he  announced. 

"  Not  much,  Jenk !  "  said  Mr.  Stevens  decidedly,  "  it 
was  D  flat  —  as  flat  a  D  as  ever  I  heard ! " 

"  It  was  C !  "  Mr.  Jenkins  said,  "  I  appeal  to  Brim." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Brimberly  ponderously,  "  I  'm  reether 
inclined  to  think  I  made  it  a  D  —  if  it  was  n't  D  it  was 
F  nat'ral.  But  if  it 's  all  the  same  to  you,  I  '11  accompany 
myself  at  the  pianoforty." 

"  What,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Stevens,  emptying  and  refilling 
his  glass,  seeing  which  Mr.  Jenkins  did  the  same,  "  what 
—  do  you  play,  Brim?  " 

"By  hear,  sir — only  by  hear,"  said  Mr.  Brimberly 
modestly,  as,  having  placed  bottle  and  glass  upon  the 
piano  within  convenient  reach,  he  seated  himself  upon  the 
stool,  struck  three  or  four  stumbling  chords  and  then, 
vamping  an  accompaniment  a  trifle  monotonous  as  to  bass, 
burst  forth  into  song: 

"It  was  a  rich  merchant  that  in  London  did  dwell, 
He  had  but  one  daughter,  a  beautiful  gell, 
Which  her  name  it  was  Dinah,  scarce  sixteen  years  old. 
She  'd  a  very  large[fortune  in  silver  and  gold." 

CHORUS: 

"Ri  tooral  ri  tooral  ri  tooral  i-day, 
Ri  tooral  ri  tooral  ri  tooral  i-day." 


Of  Harmony  and  Discord      273 

It  was  now  that  Mr.  Ravenslee,  his  rough  clothes  re 
placed  by  immaculate  attire,  entered  unostentatiously, 
and,  wholly  unobserved  by  the  company,  seated  himself 
and  lounged  there  while  Mr.  Brimberly  sang  blithely  on : 

"As  Dinah  was  a-walking  in  her  garden  one  day, 
Her  father  came  to  her  and  thus  he  did  say: 

'  Come  wed  yourself,  Dinah,  to  your  nearest  of  kin, 
Or  you  shan't  have  the  benefit  of  one  single  pin!'" 

"Ri  tooral  ri  too — " 

Here  Mr.  Jenkins,  chancing  to  catch  sight  of  that  un 
obtrusive  figure,  let  fall  his  banjo  with  a  clatter,  where 
upon  Mr.  Brimberly  glancing  around,  stopped  short  in  the 
middle  of  a  note,  and  sat  open-mouthed,  staring  at  his 
master. 

"Enjoying  a  musical  evening,  Brimberly?" 

Mr.  Brimberly  blundered  to  his  feet,  choked,  gasped, 
groped  for  his  whiskers,  and  finally  spoke: 

"  Why,  sir,  I  —  I  'm  afraid  I  —  we  are  —  " 

"  I  did  n't  know  you  were  such  an  accomplished  musi 
cian,  Brimberly." 

"  Mu-musician,  sir? "  Brimberly  stammered,  his  eyes 
goggling ;  "  'ardly  that,  sir,  oh,  'ardly  that,  I  —  I  venture 
to  —  to  tinkle  a  bit  now  an'  then,  sir  —  no  offence  I  'ope, 
sir?  " 

"  Friends  musical  too,  it  seems." 

"  Y-yes,  sir,  music  do  affect  'em,  sir  —  uncommonly, 
sir." 

"Yes,  makes  them  thirsty,  doesn't  it?" 

"  Why,  Mr.  Ravenslee,  sir,  I  —  that  is,  we  did  so  far 
venture  to  —  er  —  I  mean  —  oh,  Lord !  "  and  mopping 
perspiring  brow,  Mr.  Brimberly  groaned  and  goggled  help 
lessly  from  Mr.  Jenkins  who  stood  fumbling  with  his  banjo 
to  Mr.  Stevens  who  gaped  fishlike. 

"  And  now,"  said  Young  R.,  having  viewed  them  each 
in  turn,  "  if  these  —  er  —  very  thirsty  musicians  have  had 
enough  of  —  er  —  my  wine  to  —  er  —  drink,  perhaps 
you  '11  be  so  obliging  as  to  see  them  —  off  the  premises  ?  " 


274  The  Definite  Object 

"I  —  I  beg  parding,  sir ?  " 

"  Please  escort  jour  friends  off  the  premises." 

"  Certingly,  sir  —  at  once,  sir  —  " 

"  Unless  you  think  you  ought  to  give  them  each  a  hand 
ful  of  my  cigars  —  " 

But  Mr.  Brimberly  had  already  bundled  his  dazed 
guests  to  the  door,  out  of  the  door,  and  out  of  the  house, 
with  very  little  ceremony. 

It  was  a  very  deferential  and  officiously  eager  Brim 
berly  who  presently  knocked  and,  bowing  very  frequently, 
begged  to  know  how  he  might  be  of  further  service. 

"  Might  I  get  you  a  little  supper,  sir?  We  'ave  'am,  sir, 
we  'ave  beef,  cold,  salmon  and  cucumber  likewise  cold,  a 
ditto  chicken  —  " 

"  That  sounds  rather  a  quaint  bird,"  said  Ravenslee. 

"  Yes,  sir,  very  good,  sir,  chicken  an'  a  nice  slice  of  'am, 
sir,  say,  and  —  " 

"  Thank  you,  Brimberly,  I  dined  late." 

"  Why  then,  sir,  a  sandwich  or  so,  pray  permit  me,  sir, 
cut  nice  an'  thin,  sir  —  " 

"  Thank  you  —  no." 

"Dear,  dear!  Why  then,  sir,  whisky?  Brandy?  A 
lick-your?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  A  cigar,  sir?  " 

"  Hum !     Have  we  any  of  the  Garcias  left  ?  " 

"  Y-yes,  sir.     Ho,  certingly,  sir.     Shall  I  —  " 

"  Don't  bother,  I  prefer  my  pipe ;  only  let  me  know  when 
we  get  short,  Brimberly,  and  we  '11  order  more  —  or  per 
haps  you  have  a  favourite  brand?  " 

"  Brand,  sir,"  murmured  Brimberly,  "a  —  er  —  cer 
tingly,  sir." 

"  Good  night,  Brimberly." 

"  Good  night,  sir,  but  first  can't  I  do  — hany thing?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do  me,  of  course.  You  do  me  so  con 
sistently  and  well  that  I  really  ought  to  raise  your  wages. 
I  '11  think  about  it." 

Mr.  Brimberly  stared,  coughed,  and   fumbled  for  his 


Of  Harmony  and  Discord      275 

whisker,  whence  his  hand  wandered  to  his  brow  and  hov 
ered  there. 

"I  —  I  bid  you  good  night,  sir !  " 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,  bring  me  the  letters." 

"  Certingly,  sir !  "  and  crossing  the  room,  Mr.  Brim- 
berly  returned,  bearing  a  salver  piled  high  with  letters, 
which  he  set  at  his  master's  elbow;  this  done,  he  bowed 
and  went  from  the  room,  one  hand  still  at  his  dazed  brow. 

Left  alone,  Ravenslee  took  up  the  letters  one  by  one. 
Some  he  threw  aside,  some  few  he  opened  and  glanced  at 
carelessly ;  among  these  last  was  a  telegram,  and  the  words 
he  saw  were  these: 

"  Meet  me  to-morrow  sunset  in  the  wood  all  shall  be  ex 
plained  Hermy." 

For  a  while  he  sat  staring  at  this,  then,  laying  it  by, 
drew  out  a  letter  case  from  which  he  took  another  tele 
gram  bearing  precisely  the  same  message.  Having  com 
pared  them,  he  thrust  them  into  his  pocket,  and  filling  his 
pipe,  sat  awhile  smoking  and  lost  in  thought.  At  last,  his 
pipe  being  out,  he  rose,  stretched,  and  turned  toward  the 
door,  but  in  the  act  of  leaving  the  room,  paused  to  take 
out  and  compare  the  telegrams  again  and  so  stood  with 
puckered  brow. 

"  '  Hermy ! '  "  he  said  softly.  "  *  Hermione  '  is  so  much 
prettier.  '  All  shall  be  explained.'  A  little  trite,  perhaps  ! 
Oh,  well  — "  So  saying,  he  folded  up  the  telegrams, 
switched  off  the  lights  and  went  to  bed. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

OF    TRAGEDY 

IT  was  close  on  the  hour  of  sunset  when  Ravenslee  stopped 
his  car  before  a  quiet  hotel  in  Englewood  and  sprang  out. 

"  Will  you  be  long,  sir?  "  enquired  Joe,  seating  himself 
at  the  wheel  and  preparing  to  turn  into  the  garage. 

"  Probably  an  hour,  Joe." 

"  Very  good,  sir." 

But  as  the  big  car  turned,  Ravenslee  spoke  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  By  the  way,  if  I  should  n't  be  back  in  an  hour,  come 
and  meet  me."  Then,  having  given  Joe  full  and  particu 
lar  directions  as  to  the  little  wood,  he  turned  and  went 
upon  his  way. 

It  had  been  a  stifling  day,  and  even  now,  though  a  soft 
air  was  abroad  tempering  the  humid  heat,  when  this  light 
wind  languished  there  was  over  all  things  a  brooding  still 
ness,  foreboding  storm.  But  Ravenslee  strode  on,  un 
heeding  dust  and  heat,  hastening  on  to  that  which  awaited 
him,  full  of  strength  and  life  and  the  zest  of  life,  glad- 
hearted,  and  with  pulses  that  throbbed  in  expectation. 
Thus,  as  the  sun  sank  in  fiery  splendour,  he  reached  the 
little  wood.  Evening  was  falling,  and  already,  among  the 
trees,  shadows  were  deepening  to  twilight,  but  in  the  west 
was  a  flaming  glory;  and,  upon  the  edge  of  the  wood  he 
turned  to  glance  back  at  this  radiance,  splashes  of  gold 
and  pink  flushing  to  an  ominous  red.  For  a  long  moment 
he  stood  to  stare  around  about  the  solitary  countryside, 
joying  in  life  and  the  glory  of  it.  Then  he  turned,  with 
a  smile  on  his  lips,  and  stepped  into  the  gloom  of  the 
wood.  On  he  went,  forcing  his  way  through  the  under- 


Of  Tragedy  277 

brush  until,  reaching  the  clearing,  he  halted  suddenly  and 
faced  about,  fancying  he  had  heard  a  rustle  in  the  leaves 
hard  by.  Spike,  cowering  behind  a  bush  with  M'Ginnis's 
fingers  gripping  his  arm,  shivered  and  sweated  and  held 
his  breath  until  Ravenslee  moved  on  again,  and,  coming 
to  a  fallen  tree,  seated  himself  there  and  sat  chin  on  fist, 
expectation  in  every  tense  line  of  him. 

"  Now !  "  whispered  M'Ginnis  hoarsely,  "  get  him  now 
—  before  Hermy  comes  t'  him !  "  Shuddering,  Spike  lev 
elled  the  weapon  he  held,  but  at  that  moment  Ravenslee 
was  filling  his  pipe,  and  something  in  this  homely  action 
checked  the  lad,  paralysed  finger  on  trigger,  and  shrink 
ing,  he  cowered  down  upon  the  grass  despite  the  fierce 
hand  that  gripped  him.  "  Get  him  now,  Kid  —  get  him 
now !  Aim  f 'r  his  chest  —  y'  can't  miss  at  this 
distance  —  " 

"I  —  I  can't,  Bud !  "  gasped  the  boy,  writhing,  "  I  can't 
do  it  —  I  can't !  "  Dropping  the  revolver,  he  hid  his  face 
in  sweating  hands  and  shivered. 

From  somewhere  near  by  a  woodpecker  was  tapping 
busily,  but  save  for  this  no  sound  broke  the  pervading 
stillness,  for  the  gentle  wind  had  died  away.  But  suddenly 
the  quiet  was  rent  and  shivered,  and  Spike,  deafened  by 
the  report,  glanced  up  to  see  Ravenslee  rise  to  his  feet, 
stagger  forward  blindly,  then,  with  arms  outflung,  pitch 
forward  upon  his  face  and  lie  there. 

"  By  God,  you  —  you  've  shot  him,  Bud !  "  he  whim 
pered  —  "  you  —  you  've  killed  dear  old  Geoff  —  oh,  my 
God !  " 

"  Aw,  quit  —  quit  all  that !  "  whispered  M'Ginnis 
breathlessly,  "that's  what  we  came  for,  ain't  it?  What 
you  lookin'  at  ?  " 

"  It  lays  so  —  still !    so  awful  still ! "  Spike  gasped. 

"  Well,  what  ye  got  t'  go  starin'  at  it  that  ways  for? 
Come  on  —  let 's  beat  it ;  it 's  us  for  th'  quick  get-away 
in  case  any  one  heard.  Come  on,  Kid !  " 

"  But  you  've  —  killed  Geoff!  " 

"  I  guess  he  don't  need  no  more  —  'n'  say,  Kid,  you  're 


278  The  Definite  Object 

in  on  this  job  too,  don't  forget!  Come  on,  it's  little  old 
N'  York  for  ours !  " 

Though  M'Ginnis  dragged  at  him,  Spike  huddled  limply 
on  his  knees,  his  glaring  eyes  always  staring  in  the  one 
direction;  whereupon  M'Ginnis  cursed  and  left  him. 

But  all  at  once,  finding  himself  alone,  to  horror  came 
fear,  and  stumbling  to  his  feet  Spike  began  to  draw  away 
from  that  awful  thing  that  held  his  gaze;  slowly  he  re 
treated,  always  going  backwards,  and  though  he  stumbled 
often  against  tree  and  sapling,  yet  so  long  as  it  was  in 
sight  needs  must  he  walk  backwards.  When  at  last  a 
kindly  bush  hid  it  from  his  sight,  he  turned  and  ran  — • 
ran  until,  panting  and  wild-eyed,  he  burst  from  the  wood 
and  was  out  upon  the  open  road.  Even  then  he  paused 
to  stare  back  into  that  leafy  gloom  but  saw  and  heard 
nothing.  Then,  uttering  a  moan,  he  turned  and  ran  sob 
bing  along  the  darkening  road. 

But,  within  that  place  of  shadows,  from  amid  the  leaves 
of  a  certain  great  tree,  dropped  one  who  came  beside  that 
motionless  form,  and  knelt  there  awhile.  When  at  last 
he  rose,  a  ring  lay  upon  his  open  palm  —  a  ring  in  the 
shape  of  two  hands  clasping  each  other;  then,  with  this 
clenched  in  a  pallid  fist,  he  also  turned  and  left  that  still 
and  awful  thing  with  its  face  hidden  in  last  year's  dead 
and  rotting  leaves. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 

OF    REMORSE 

FOR  three  miserable  days  Spike  had  remained  indoors, 
eating  little,  sleeping  less,  venturing  abroad  only  at  dusk 
to  hurry  back  with  the  latest  paper  and,  locked  within 
his  bedroom,  to  scan  every  scare  head  and  column  with 
eyes  dilating  in  dreadful  expectation  of  beholding  the 
awful  word  — MURDER. 

For  three  interminable  days  Hermione,  going  about  her 
many  duties  slow  of  foot  and  listless,  had  scarcely  heeded 
him,  conscious  only  of  her  own  pain,  the  agony  of  longing, 
the  yearning  ache  that  filled  her,  throbbing  in  every  heart 
beat  —  an  ache  that  would  not  be  satisfied.  Thus,  lost 
in  her  own  new  sorrow,  she  spoke  seldom,  sighed  often,  and 
sang  not  at  all;  often  sitting  at  her  sewing  machine  with 
hands  strangely  idle  and  gaze  abstracted.  Spike,  watch 
ing  furtively,  had  seen  her  eyes  brim  over  with  great,  slow- 
falling  tears ;  more  than  once  he  had  heard  her  bitter 
weeping  in  the  dawn.  At  such  times  he  had  yearned  to 
comfort  her,  but  between  them  was  memory,  dividing  them 
like  a  wall  —  the  memory  of  a  still  form  with  arms  wide- 
tossed  and  face  hidden  among  dead  leaves.  And  at  such 
times  Spike  writhed  in  the  grip  of  horror  and  groaned 
under  the  gnawing  fangs  of  remorse ;  sometimes  he  prayed 
wild,  passionate  prayers,  and  sometimes  he  wetted  his 
pillow  with  unavailing  tears,  while  in  his  ears,  like  a  small 
voice,  soft  and  insistent,  repeated  over  and  over  again, 
was  the  dread  word  MURDER.  By  day  it  haunted  him 
also;  it  stared  up  at  him  from  the  white  cloth  of  the 
breakfast  table,  forbidding  him  to  eat ;  he  read  it  on  floor 
and  walls  and  ceiling ;  he  saw  it  in  bloody  characters  that 


280  The  Definite  Object 

straggled  across  the  very  sky ;  wherever  he  turned  his  hag 
gard  gaze  there  he  needs  must  read  it. 

And  then  —  there  were  the  footsteps.  All  day  long  they 
tramped  up  and  down  the  stairs  outside  —  everyday 
sounds  that  he  had  never  heeded  before,  but  now  they  were 
warnings  to  hearken  to  and  shudder  at,  and  he  would  sit 
pretending  to  read  but  with  ears  straining  for  the  sound 
of  feet  upon  the  landing  or  on  the  stair.  Now  they  were 
feet  that  crept  —  the  stealthy  steps  of  one  that  lurked  to 
catch  him  unaware;  or  again,  they  were  the  loud  tramp 
of  those  who  came  with  authority  to  drag  him  to  doom, 
and  he  would  watch  the  door,  staring  wide-eyed,  waiting 
for  the  thundering  knock  he  expected  yet  which  never 
came.  All  day  long  they  haunted  him,  and  at  night, 
locked  within  his  bedroom,  he  must  needs  lift  heavy  head 
from  the  pillow  to  hearken  with  ears  straining  even  yet, 
until,  haggard  and  worn,  he  had  shivered  and  groaned 
and  wept  himself  to  sleep,  only  to  awake  and  start  up  in 
sweating  terror,  thinking  he  heard  a  fierce  hand  knocking, 
knocking  upon  the  outer  door. 

Thus,  for  three  long  days  Spike  had  lived  in  torment, 
and  to-night,  as  he  leaned  throbbing  head  between  clutch 
ing  hands,  his  haggard  eyes  sought  vainly  for  that  fell 
word  which  he  could  read  everywhere  except  in  the  news 
paper  before  him;  his  sufferings  had  grown  almost  be 
yond  his  strength,  for  to  his  old  torments  was  added  har 
rowing  suspense. 

«  Why?  »  «  Why?  "  "  Why  "  was  the  word  that  stared 
at  him  from  ceiling  and  walls  and  blue  expanse  of  heaven ; 
why  was  it  there  and  not  in  the  papers  ?  Could  it  be  that 
it  was  lying  there  yet,  that  awful,  still  thing,  lying  as  he 
remembered  it,  as  he  could  see  it  now,  its  ghastly  features 
hidden  among  the  leaves  that  rotted,  its  long  arms  out- 
flung  and  strong  hands  griped  among  the  grass  with 
clutching  fingers  —  could  it  be  ?  — 

"  Arthur  —  boy  —  what 's  the  matter?  " 

Spike  started  and  looked  up  to  find  Hermione  beside 
him,  and  instinctively  he  shrank  away. 


Of  Remorse  281 

"  Arthur  —  oh,  what  is  it?    Are  you  sick?  " 

"N-no,  why?" 

"  You  were  moaning." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  —  I  'm  all  right,  I  guess.  Got  a  headache, 
that 's  all." 

"  Why  have  you  avoided  me  lately,  Arthur?  I  'm  not 
angry  any  more,  I  'm  only  —  disappointed." 

"  Y'  mean  because  I  lost  me  job?  They  don't  want 
my  kind ;  I  —  oh,  I  'm  too  mean  —  too  rotten,  I  guess." 

"  I  heard  you  cry  out  in  the  night,  Arthur.  What  was 
it?" 

"  Nothin'  —  I  did  n't  cry  out  las'  night,  I  tell  ye." 

"  I  heard  you !  " 

"  Oh,  well,  I  —  I  was  only  dreamin',  I  guess." 

"  Why  have  you  acted  so  strangely  lately  ?  You  don't 
eat,  you  don't  go  out;  you  sit  around  staring  and  seem 
to  be  listening  —  almost  as  if  you  were  afraid  —  " 

"  I  ain't  —  I  ain't  afraid.  Who  says  I  'm  afraid?  An' 
I  don't  want  you  to  go  worryin'  y'self  sick  over  me  —  I 
ain't  a  kid  no  more." 

"  No,  I  'm  afraid  you  're  not."  And  sighing,  she  turned 
away.  But  as  she  crossed  the  room,  her  step  slow  and 
listless,  he  spoke,  his  head  downbent  and  face  hidden  be 
tween  clenched  hands,  voicing,  almost  despite  himself,  the 
questions  that  had  tortured  him  so  long. 

"  Say,  Hermy,  where  's  —  Geoff?  How  is  he  —  I  mean 
you  —  you  ain't  —  heard  anything  —  have  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered  softly,  without  turning,  "  what 
should  I  hear  ?  I  only  know  he  's  —  gone.  How  should 
I  hope  to  hear  anything  any  more?  " 

"I  —  I  thought  he  was  —  goin'  t'  marry  you." 

"  So  he  was,  but  I  —  could  n't  let  him  —  marry  —  a 
thief's  sister,"  she  said  in  the  same  low,  even  voice. 

"  Ah !  "  cried  Spike,  writhing,  "  why  did  he  go  an'  tell 
ye  about  me  after  he  told  me  he  never  would  —  why  did 
he  tell  ye?" 

"  He  did  n't  tell  me !  "  cried  Hermione,  with  curling  lip. 

"  Did  n't  he  —  oh  —  did  n't  he?  "  said  Spike,  his  voice 


282  The  Definite  Object 

high  and  quivering,  "  did  n't  Geoff  tell  ye?  Then  —  say, 
Hermy,  who  —  who  did?  " 

"  It  was  Bud  M'Ginnis,  and  for  once  it  seems  he  told 
the  truth ! " 

"  Bud !  "  cried  Spike,  stumbling  to  his  feet.  "  Oh,  my 
God !  "  At  sound  of  his  voice  she  turned,  and  seeing  his 
face,  cried  out  in  sudden  fear :  "  Arthur  —  oh,  Arthur, 
what  is  it?" 

"  Bud  told  ye?  "  he  gasped.  "  Was  n't  it  Geoff  —  oh, 
was  n't  it  Geoff?  " 

"  No !  " 

Spike  was  down  on  his  knees.  "  Oh,  God !  Oh,  Geoff  — 
dear  old  Geoff,  forgive  me !  "  He  was  huddled  upon  the 
floor,  his  face  pressed  to  the  worn  rug,  his  clenched  fingers 
buried  in  his  curls,  while  from  his  lips  issued  gasping  sobs 
harshly  dry  and  awful  to  hear. 

"  Forgive  me,  Geoff,  forgive  me !  I  thought  you  told 
her !  I  thought  you  meant  t'  steal  her  from  me !  Oh,  for 
give  me,  Geoff  —  I  wish  I  was  dead  like  you." 

"  Arthur !  " 

She  was  down  beside  him  on  her  knees,  shaking  him  with 
desperate  hands. 

"Arthur!     Arthur!    What  —  are  you  saying?" 

"  Nothin'  —  nothin' !  "  he  stammered,  staring  up  into 
her  face,  suddenly  afraid  of  her.  "  Nothin',  I  —  I  was 
only  —  thinkin'  —  I  —  " 

"  What  did  you  mean  ?  "  she  cried,  her  grasp  tightening. 
"  Tell  me  what  you  meant  —  tell  me,  tell  me !  " 

"  Nothin',"  he  mumbled,  trying  to  break  her  hold. 
"  Lemme  go,  I  —  I  did  n't  mean  anything  —  " 

;'  Tell  me  what  you  meant  —  tell  me,  tell  me !  " 

"  No  —  I  can't  —  I  —  " 

His  voice  failed  suddenly,  his  whole  frame  grew  tense 
and  rigid,  and  lifting  a  stiff  arm  he  pointed  a  trembling 
finger  toward  the  open  doorway. 

"  Hush  —  hush !  "  he  panted,  "  oh,  for  God's  sake, 
hush !  There  —  don't  you  hear  —  there  's  some  one  out 
side  on  th'  landing  —  footsteps  —  hark !  They  're  coming 


Of  Remorse  283 

to  our  door !  They  're  stoppin'  outside  —  oh,  my  God, 
it 's  come  at  —  " 

The  word  ended  in  a  scream,  drowned  all  at  once  in  a 
thunderous  knocking  on  the  outer  door,  and  Spike,  crouch 
ing  upon  his  knees,  clutched  at  her  as  she  rose. 

"  Don't» — don't  open  —  the  door!"  he  gasped,  while 
Hermione  gazed  at  him,  terrified  by  his  terror,  as  again 
the  thunderous  summons  was  heard.  Then,  despite  the 
boy's  passionate  prayers  and  desperate,  clutching  hands, 
she  broke  from  him,  and  hastening  into  the  little  passage, 
opened  the  door. 

Upon  the  threshold  stood  a  little  old  man,  very  smartly 
dressed,  who  saluted  her  with  a  gallant  flourish  of  his 
dapper  straw  hat  and  bowed  with  his  two  small  and 
glittering  patent  leather  shoes  posed  at  position  number 
one  in  waltzing. 

"  Ma'am,"  said  he,  "  miss,  respectful  greetin's.  Your 
name  's  Hermione,  ain't  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  wondering. 

"  Knowed  it  was.  And  a  partic'ler  fine  gal  too ! 
Though  not  'oldin'  wi'  marridge,  I  don't  blame  the  Guv  — 
'e  always  'ad  a  quick  eye  for  beauty  —  like  me." 

"  But  who  are  you?     What  do  you  want  —  " 

"  Miss,  I  want  you  —  leastways  —  'e  does.  Been 
callin'  for  you  the  last  three  days  'e  has,  ever  since  'e 
ketched  one  as  fair  doubled  'im  up  —  " 

"I  —  I  don't  understand.     Who  are  you?  " 

"  A  admirer  of  the  Guv,  ma'am.  A  trusted  friend  of 
'is,  miss  —  come  t'  take  ye  to  'is  poor,  yearnin'  arms, 
lady  —  " 

"  But  who  —  oh,  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Mr.  Ravenslee,  ma'am." 

"  Mr.  Ravenslee !  "  she  echoed,  her  colour  changing. 

"  Yes.    Y'  see  —  he  's  dyin',  miss  !  " 

Hermione  gasped  and  leaned  against  the  wall  as  if  sud 
denly  faint  and  sick,  perceiving  which,  the  Old  Un 
promptly  set  his  arm  about  her  waist  and  led  her  unre 
sisting  into  the  parlour.  There,  having  aided  her  ten- 


284          The  Definite  Object 

derly  into  a  chair  and  nodded  to   pale-faced  Spike,  he 
sighed,  shook  his  ancient  head,  and  continued: 

"  Ho,  Lor  lumme,  lady,  it  fair  wrung  my  old  'eart  to 
'ave  to  tell  ye,  but,  'aving  to  tell  ye  (Joe  could  n't)  I  told 
ye  almighty  quick  to  get  it  over  —  sharp  an'  quick  's  my 
motter.  Fate  's  crool  'ard  when  Fate  takes  the  gloves  off , 
miss,  an'  I  know  as  Fate  's  been  an'  took  ye  one  in  the  wind 
wot 's  fair  doubled  you  up  —  but  take  time,  miss,  take 
time  —  throw  back  your  pretty  'ead,  breathe  deep  an' 
reg'lar,  an'  you  '11  soon  be  strong  enough  to  go  another 
round.  If  I  'd  got  a  towel  handy  I  'd  fan  ye  a  bit  —  not 
'avin'  none,  no  matter.  Fate  's  'ard  on  you,  so  fair  an' 
young,  miss,  but  Fate  's  been  'arder  on  the  Guv  —  ketched 
the  pore  young  Guv  a  fair  spiflicator  —  " 

"  Oh,  please  —  please,"  cried  Hermione,  reaching  out 
appealing  hands,  "  oh,  tell  me,  is  he  hurt  —  sick  —  dying? 
Oh,  quick,  quick  —  tell  me !  " 

"  Lady,  ma'am  —  my  pretty  dear,"  said  the  Old  Un, 
taking  those  pleading  hands  to  pat  them  tenderly,  "  that 's 
what  I  'm  tryin'  to  do.  The  Guv  ain't  dead  yet  —  no, 
not  —  yet  —  " 

"  You  mean  he  's  dying  ?  " 

*'  My  dear,"  said  the  old  man,  blinking  at  her  through 
sudden  tears,  "  that 's  what  the  doctors  say."  Here  he 
loosed  one  hand  to  rub  at  each  bright  eye  with  a  bony 
knuckle.  "  An'  'im  so  young  —  so  game  an'  strong  — 
three  days  ago." 

"  How  —  did  it  —  happen?  "  she  questioned,  her  voice 
low  and  steady. 

"  It  was  Fate !  "  said  the  old  man,  taking  her  hand 
again.  "  Three  days  ago  Fate  (the  perisher)  sends  him  a 
telegram  —  two  on  'em  —  tellin'  'im  to  meet  you  in  a  wood 
an'  signed  with  —  with  your  name,  both  on  'em  —  " 

At  this  she  cried  out  and  would  have  risen,  but  his 
kindly  clasp  checked  her. 

—  sent  no  telegram !  "  she  whispered. 

"  Me  an'  Joe  an'  the  Spider  know  that  now,  miss.  But 
anyway,  to  this  'ere  wood  the  Guv  do  'aste  away,  an'  in 


Of  Remorse  285 

this  wood  Fate  's  a-layin'  for  'im  wi'  a  gun,  an'  down  goes 
the  pore  Guv  wi'  a  perishin'  bullet  in  'is  gizzard.  An* 
there  Joe  finds  'im,  an'  'ome  Joe  brings  'im  in  the  car,  an' 
Joe  an'  me  an'  the  Spider  'ushes  things  up.  An'  now  in 
bed  lays  the  Guv  with  nurses  an'  doctors  'anging  over  'im 

—  a-callin'  for  you  —  I  mean  the  Guv,  d'  ye  see?     So  now 
for  you  I  've  come.     I  've  brought  Joe  an'  the  car  for  you 

—  Joe  's  across  wi'  Mrs.  Trapes,  an'  the  car  's  below  — 
both  waitin'.      So   you  '11  come  t'  th'   pore  young  Guv, 
miss,  won't  ye,  lady?  " 

"  Have  you  —  any  idea  —  who  —  did  it  ?  "  she  ques 
tioned,  speaking  as  with  an  effort. 

"  We  got  our  suspicions,  ho,  yus !  "  the  Old  Un  nodded. 
"  Joe  's  got  a  wonnerful  gift  o'  suspicion  —  oh,  a  rare 
'ead  'as  my  lad  Joe.  Joe  an'  the  Spider  's  on  the  track, 
an'  they  're  goin'  to  track  Fate  to  doom,  ma'am  —  to 
perishin'  doom !  Y'  see,"  here  the  old  man  leaned  suddenly 
nearer,  "  y'  see,  Joe  's  found  a  cloo !  " 

"  A  clew !  Yes  —  yes  !  "  she  whispered  breathlessly, 
moistening  lips  suddenly  dry,  and  conscious  that  Spike's 
lax  form  had  stiffened  to  painful  alertness. 

"  Well,  ma'am,  Joe  an'  the  Spider  's  been  a-seekin'  an' 
a-searchin'  of  that  there  wood,  an'  they  found,"  here  the 
Old  Un  leaned  nearer  yet  and  whispered  harshly,  "  they 
found  —  a  coat  button !  Lorgorramighty  !  "  he  exclaimed 
suddenly,  pointing  a  trembling  bony  finger,  "  what 's  took 
th'  lad  —  look !  " 

Spike  had  risen  and  now  stood,  breathing  loudly,  one 
hand  clenched  upon  his  breast,  and  turning  swiftly,  took 
a  stumbling  pace  toward  the  open  window,  tripped,  and 
fell  prone  upon  his  face. 

"  Oh,  poor  lad,  poor  lad !  "  cried  the  Old  Un,  rising 
hastily.  "  Fate  's  been  an'  ketched  him  one  too  —  a  fair 
knockout !  Leave  him  to  me,  miss,  I  '11  bring  'im  round 

—  bitin'  'is  years  is  good,  or  vinegar  on  a  sponge  —  leave 
'im  to  a  old  fightin'  man  —  " 

"  No !  "  cried  Hermione  passionately,  "  no,  I  say.  Leave 
him  to  me !  "  Quelled  by  something  in  her  tone  and  man- 


286          The  Definite  Object 

ner,  the  old  man  sank  back  in  his  chair,  while  she,  kneeling 
beside  Spike,  lifted  him  in  her  strong  young  arms  so  that 
he  was  hidden  from  the  Old  Un's  bright,  piercing  eyes. 
Holding  him  thus,  she  loosed  Spike's  rigid  fingers  and 
drew  away  that  clutching  hand;  then,  seeing  what  that 
hand  had  striven  to  hide,  she  shrank  suddenly  away,  let 
ting  the  boy's  inanimate  form  slip  from  her  clasp;  and, 
as  she  knelt  there  above  him,  her  shapely  body  was  seized 
with  fierce  tremors. 

So  she  knelt  for  a  long  moment  until  Spike  sighed, 
shivered,  and  sat  up,  but  beholding  the  look  in  her  wide 
eyes,  uttered  a  hoarse  sound  that  was  like  a  cry  of  fear 
and,  starting  from  her  nearness,  crouched  down,  huddled 
upon  his  knees. 

Then  Hermione  rose  and,  turning  to  the  old  man, 
smiled  with  pallid  lips. 

"  You  see  —  he  's  all  right  —  now !  "  she  said.  "  If 
you  '11  please  go  and  tell  Mrs.  Trapes  I  'm  leaving,  I  '11 
get  ready."  Obediently  the  Old  Un  rose. 

"  Mrs.  Trapes  is  a-gettin'  into  her  bonnet  to  come  along 
wi'  us !  "  said  he,  and  putting  on  his  hat  with  a  flourish, 
took  his  departure.  When  he  was  gone,  Hermione  turned 
and  looked  down  at  Spike,  who,  meeting  her  eyes,  flinched 
as  from  a  blow  and  made  no  effort  to  rise  from  his  knees. 
So  she  packed  her  grip  and  dressed  for  the  journey,  while 
he  watched  her  with  eyes  of  mute  appeal.  Twice  he  would 
have  spoken,  but  her  look  smote  him  to  silence.  At  last, 
as  she  took  up  her  suit  case  and  turned  to  go,  he  implored 
her  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  reaching  out  his  arms  to  her: 
"  Hermy !  " 

But  she  shrank  from  his  contact  and,  hastening  from 
the  room  and  along  the  little  passage,  closed  the  door  and 
left  him  to  his  hopeless  misery.  As  one  in  a  dream  she 
followed  the  old  man  down  the  stairs,  was  aware  of  his 
ushering  her  through  the  crowd  of  women  and  children 
who  thronged  about  the  big  car.  As  one  in  a  dream  she 
found  herself  seated  beside  Mrs.  Trapes,  whose  motherly 
solicitude  she  heeded  no  more  than  the  bustle  and  traffic 


Of  Remorse  287 

of  the  streets  through  which  the  swift  car  whirled  her  on 
and  on  until,  turning,  it  swung  in  between  massive  gates 
and  pulled  up  before  a  great,  gloomy  house. 

As  one  in  a  dream  she  ascended  the  broad  steps,  crossed 
a  stately  hall,  was  ushered  up  a  noble  stairway  and  along 
thick-carpeted  corridors  until  at  last  she  found  herself  in 
a  darkened  chamber  where,  his  dark  head  conspicuous 
upon  the  white  pillow,  he  lay.  A  nurse  rose  from  beside 
the  bed  as  Hermione  entered  and  softly  withdrew.  Left 
alone,  she  stood  for  a  long  moment  utterly  still,  her  hands 
tightly  clasped,  her  breath  in  check,  gazing  at  that  dark 
head  upon  the  pillow,  at  that  outstretched  form  lying  so 
silent  and  so  very  still. 

"  Hermione !  " 

A  feeble  whisper,  a  sigh  faintly  breathed,  but  at  the 
sound  she  had  crossed  the  wide  chamber  on  feet  swift  and 
noiseless,  had  sunk  upon  her  knees  beside  the  low  bed 
to  lean  above  him  all  murmurous  love  and  sighing  tender 
ness,  while  she  stole  a  timid  hand  to  touch  the  hair  that 
curled  upon  his  pallid  brow ;  then,  for  all  his  helplessness, 
she  flushed  beneath  his  look. 

"  How  beautiful  —  you  are !  "  he  said  faintly,  "  and  I 
—  weak  as  —  confounded  rat !  Hermione  —  love,  they 
tell  me  I  —  must  die.  But  first  I  want  you  for  —  my  very 
own  if  only  for  —  a  little  while !  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  she  whispered,  soft  mouth  against  his 
pale  cheek,  "  I  always  was  yours  —  yours  from  the  very 
first ;  I  always  shall  be." 

"  Then  you  '11  —  marry  me?  " 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"Now?" 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"I  —  hoped  you  would,  so  —  I  arranged  —  minister  's 
waiting  now.  Will  you  —  ring?  "  And  he  motioned 
feebly  toward  an  electric  bell-push  that  stood  upon  a 
small  table  beside  the  bed. 

And  now  once  again  as  one  in  a  dream  she  obeyed,  and 
was  presently  aware  of  soft-treading  figures  about  her  in 


288  The  Definite  Object 

the  dim  chamber  —  among  them  the  Old  Un  whose  shoes 
for  once  creaked  not  at  all.  As  one  in  a  dream  she  made 
the  responses,  felt  the  feeble  clasp  of  that  hand  whose 
strength  and  masterful  power  had  thrilled  her,  heard  the 
faint  echo  of  that  loved  voice  that  had  wooed  her  so  pas 
sionately  once,  yet  wooed  in  vain,  while  now  — 

She  was  alone  again,  alone  with  him  who  lay  so  very  still 
and  pale  with  eyes  closed  wearily ;  from  him  she  glanced  to 
that  which  gleamed  so  bright  and  new  upon  her  finger 
and  bending  her  head  she  pressed  the  wedding  ring  to  her 
lips. 

"  Wife !  "  he  whispered ;  the  weary  eyes  were  open,  and 
his  look  drew  her.  So  she  knelt  beside  the  bed  again, 
stooping  above  him  low  and  lower  until  her  head  lay  beside 
his  upon  the  pillow.  Slowly,  slowly  his  feeble  hand  crept 
up  to  her  glowing  cheek,  to  the  soft  waves  of  her  hair,  and 
to  the  little  curl  that  wantoned  above  her  eyebrow. 

"  Hermione  - —  wife  —  kiss  me !  " 

Tenderly  her  arms  enfolded  him,  and  with  a  soft  little 
cry  that  was  half  a  sob  she  kissed  him,  his  brow,  his  hair, 
his  lips,  kissed  him  even  while  she  wetted  him  with  her  fall 
ing  tears. 

"  Beloved,"  he  murmured,  "  my  glorious  —  scrub 
woman  —  if  I  must  —  leave  you  —  these  dear  hands  need 
never  —  never  slave  again.  Never  —  any  —  more,  my 
Hermione." 

Long  after  he  had  fallen  to  sleep  she  knelt  there, 
cradling  his  weakness  in  her  arms,  looking  down  on  him 
with  eyes  bright  with  love. 

After  this  were  days  and  nights  when  the  soul  of  him 
wandered  in  dark  places  filled  with  chaotic  dreams  and 
wild  fancies;  but  there  was  ever  one  beside  him  whose 
gentle  voice  reached  him  in  the  darkness,  and  whose  tender 
hand  hushed  his  delirium  and  soothed  his  woes  and 
troubles. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

HOW  GEOFFREY  RAVENSLEE  CAME  OUT  OF  THE  DARK 

SHE  was  knitting;  and  opening  sleepy  eyes  he  watched 
drowsily  and  wondered  what  it  might  be  and  was  minded 
to  enquire,  but  sighed  instead  and  fell  asleep  again. 

She  was  knitting;  knitting  something  in  red  wool,  and 
opening  his  eyes  again,  he  lay  watching  awhile  and  pon 
dered  dreamily  as  to  what  it  could  be  she  wrought  at  so 
busily,  for  the  wool  was  so  very  red  and  so  extremely 
woolly. 

Her  chin  was  set  at  an  angle  somewhat  grim,  she  was 
sitting  very  upright  in  her  chair  and,  though  scrupulously 
hidden  from  sight,  her  elbows  —  truly  how  portentous 
were  the  undisguisable  points  of  those  elbows !  And  she 
was  knitting  fiercely  in  wool  that  was  remarkably  red  and 
woolly. 

"  Pray  what  is  it,  Mrs.  Trapes  ?  "  A  feeble  whisper, 
but,  at  the  sound,  faint  though  it  was,  Mrs.  Trapes 
started,  half  rose  from  her  chair,  sank  down  again  heavily 
and  letting  fall  her  knitting,  stared  at  the  invalid. 

"  Land  sakes,  alive !  "  she  gasped. 

"  Now  you  've  dropped  it !  "  said  Ravenslee,  his  voice  a 
little  stronger. 

"  Oh,  dear  beloved  land  o'  my  fathers  —  it 's  come !  " 
she  exclaimed,  clasping  her  hands,  "  the  Lord  be  praised 
for  evermore,  it 's  come !  " 

"What  has?" 

"  The  turn !  And  you  've  took  it !  Doctor  Dennison 
says  last  night  as  you  'd  take  it  soon  one  way  or  t'  other. 
But  all  night  long  while  they  waited  and  watched  here, 
you  've  laid  so  pale  an'  still  as  a  corp'.  An'  now,  while 


290          The  Definite  Object 

I  'm  a-settin'  here,  you  go  an'  take  th'  turn  so  sudden  as 
fair  takes  my  breath  away,  Lord  be  praised !  I  mean  — 
I  mean  —  oh,  I  guess  I  '11  go  wake  the  doctor." 

"  But  you  have  n't  told  me  what  it  is,"  said  Ravenslee 
drowsily. 

"What  what  is?" 

"  That  very  peculiar  —  woolly  thing." 

"This?"  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  picking  up  the  object  in 
question,  "  this  is  my  knittin'.  Doctor  said  t'  call  him  th' 
moment  th'  turn  came  —  "  Her  voice  seemed  to  sink  to 
a  slumberous  murmur  as,  having  smoothed  his  pillow,  she 
crossed  the  room  and  very  softly  closed  the  door  behind 
her;  wherefore  Ravenslee  blinked  sleepily  at  the  door  until 
its  panels  seemed  slowly  to  become  confused  and  merge 
one  into  another,  changing  gradually  to  a  cloud,  soft, 
billowy,  and  ever  growing  until  it  had  engulfed  him  alto 
gether,  and  he  sank  down  and  down  into  unknown  deeps 
of  forgetfulness  and  blessed  quietude. 

She  was  knitting;  knitting  a  shapeless  something  in  red 
wool,  and  Ravenslee  thought  he  had  never  known  her 
elbows  more  threatening  of  aspect  nor  seen  wool  quite  so 
red  and  woolly;  wherefore  he  presently  spoke,  and  his 
voice  was  no  longer  a  feeble  croak. 

"Pray  what  is  it,  Mrs.  Trapes?" 

Mrs.  Trapes  jumped. 

"  Well,  for  th'  love  o'  heaven ! "  she  exclaimed,  and 
down  fell  her  knitting. 

"  Now  you  've  dropped  it !  "  said  Ravenslee  a  little 
petulantly. 

"Your  very  —  identical  —  words!"  said  Mrs.  Trapes 
in  awed  tones.  "  Nacher  sure  *  moves  in  a  mysterious  way 
her  wonders  to  perform  ' !  " 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  as  them  was  the  identical  words  as  you  ad 
dressed  to  me  when  you  took  th'  turn  two  days  ago !  " 
*  Two  days !  "  exclaimed  Ravenslee,  staring. 

"  Ever  since  you  did  take  the  turn  two  days  ago,  you  've 


Out  of  the  Dark  291 

laid  there  so  quiet  an'  peaceful  —  no  more  dreams  an' 
ravin' — you  've  jest  laid  there  'wrapped  in  infant  slum 
bers  pure  an'  light ',  Mr.  Geoffrey  —  Ravenslee,  I  mean." 

"  Why  then,  it 's  about  time  I  got  up.  If  you  '11  kindly 
—  er  —  retire  and  send  Patterson,  I  '11  get  dressed." 

"  Dressed? "  echoed  Mrs.  Trapes,  hollow-voiced  and 
grim.  "Get  up?  Lord,  Mr.  Geoffrey!" 

"Certainly.     Why  not?  " 

"  What,  you  —  you  as  is  only  jest  out  o'  the  valley  o' 
th'  shadder !  You  as  we  've  all  give  up  for  dead  over  an' 
over !  You  get  up  ?  Lord,  Mr.  Geoffrey  —  I  mean 
Ravenslee ! " 

"  Oh,"  said  Ravenslee,  knitting  his  dark  brows  thought 
fully,  "  have  I  been  sick  long?  " 

"Four  weeks." 

"  Weeks  !  "  he  exclaimed,  staring  incredulously. 

"  Four  weeks  an'  a  bit !  For  four  weary,  woeful  weeks 
you  've  been  layin'  here  with  death  hoverin'  over  you,  Mr. 
Geoffrey.  For  four  long  weeks  we  've  been  waitin'  for  ye 
t'  draw  your  las'  breath,  Mr.  Ravenslee.  For  four  'eart- 
rendin'  weeks  your  servants  has  been  carryin'  on  below 
stairs  an'  robbin'  you  somethin'  shameful." 

"My  servants?  Oh,  yes,  they  generally  do.  But  tell 
me- 

"  The  amount  o'  food  as  they  consoom  constant !  The 
waste !  The  extravagance !  Th'  beer  an'  wine  an'  sperrits 
they  swaller!  Them  is  sure  the  thirstiest  menials  ever 
I  heard  tell  of !  An'  the  butler  —  such  airs,  such  a  appe 
tite  !  An'  sherry  an'  bitters  t'  make  it  worse !  Lord,  Mr. 
Geoffrey,  your  servants  sure  is  a  ravenin'  horde !  " 

"  Don't  be  too  hard  on  'em,  Mrs.  Trapes,"  he  answered 
gravely,  "  I  'm  afraid  I  've  neglected  them  quite  a  good 
deal.  But  it 's  a  woman's  hand  they  need  over  them." 

"  It 's  a  pleeceman's  club  they  need  on  'em  —  frequent ! 
I  'd  learn  'em  different,  I  guess  —  " 

"  So  you  shall,  Mrs.  Trapes,  if  you  will.  You  are  pre 
cisely  the  kind  of  housekeeper  I  need." 

"What  — me?" 


292  The  Definite  Object 

"  You,  Mrs.  Trapes.  A  lonely  bachelor  needs  some  one 
to  —  er  take  care  of  his  servants  for  him,  to  see  they 
don't  overeat  themselves  too  often ;  or  —  er  —  strain 
themselves  spring-cleaning  out  of  season  —  or  —  " 

"  But  you  got  a  wife  t'  do  all  that  for  you.  I  guess 
Hermy  '11  know  how  to  manage." 

"Hermione!"  said  Ravenslee,  starting,  "wife?  Am  I 
really  —  married  ?  " 

"  Sure !  Did  n't  she  go  an*  let  you  wed  her  when  we 
all  thought  you  was  *dy  in'  ?  " 

"Oh,  did  she?"  said  he  very  gently.  "Why  then,  it 
—  it  was  n't  all  a  dream  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Geoffrey,  Hermy  's  been  Mrs.  Ravenslee,  your 
lawful  wedded  wife,  just  exactly  four  weeks." 

Ravenslee  stared  up  at  the  ceiling,  dreamy-eyed. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  he  murmured.  "  I  thought  I  'd  only 
dreamed  it." 

"  Hermy  's  watched  over  you  night  an'  day  a'most  — 
like  th'  guardian  angel  she  is  —  prayin'  f  you,  workin' 
f  you,  fightin'  death  away  from  you.  Oh,  I  guess  it 's 
her  fault  as  you  're  alive  this  day !  Anyway,  her  an'  you  's 
man  an'  wife  till  death  do  you  part." 

"  But  death  —  has  n't,  you  see." 

"  An'  death  sure  ain't  goin'  to  —  yet." 

"  No,  I  'm  —  I  'm  very  much  alive  still,  it  seems." 

"  You  sure  are,  glory  be  t'  th'  Lord  of  Hosts  to  who  I 
have  also  petitioned  frequent  on  your  behoof.  An'  now 
I  '11  call  th'  doctor." 

"  No,  no  —  not  Dennison  ;  let  me  see  her  first.  Can't 
I  speak  to  Hermione  first,  Mrs.  Trapes?" 

"  She  was  up  with  you  all  las'  night,  sweet  lamb !  It  'd 
be  a  shame  to  wake  her  —  " 

"  So  it  would  —  don't  disturb  her." 

"  But  I  guess  she  'd  never  forgive  me  if  I  did  n't  wake 
her.  So  if  you'll  promise  t'  be  good — " 

"I  will!" 

"  An'  not  go  gettin'  all  worked  up  an'  excited?  " 

"I  will  not!" 


Out  of  the  Dark  293 

"  Why  then,  perhaps  ten  minutes  would  n't  hurt." 

"  God  bless  you,  Mrs.  Trapes !  " 

Left  alone,  he  tried  to  sit  up,  and  finding  this  strangely 
difficult,  examined  his  hands  and  arms,  scowling  to  find 
himself  so  weak.  Then  he  clapped  hand  to  bony  jaw  and 
was  shocked  to  feel  thereon  a  growth  of  ragged  beard, 
and  then  —  she  was  before  him.  Fresh  from  her  slumbers 
she  came,  wrapped  in  a  scanty  kimono  whose  thin,  cling 
ing  folds  revealed  more  of  her  shapely  beauty  than  he 
had  ever  seen  as  she  hurried  across  the  wide  chamber. 

"  Hermione,"  he  said,  and  reached  out  his  hands  to  her. 
And  his  voice  was  no  longer  the  feeble  echo  it  had  been ; 
the  hand  that  clasped  hers,  though  still  thin  and  weak, 
thrilled  her  anew  with  its  masterful  touch.  Because  of 
all  this,  her  words  of  tender  greeting  remained  unspoken, 
the  arms  which  had  been  eager  to  cradle  his  helplessness 
crossed  themselves  on  her  bosom;  she  became  aware  of 
naked  ankles  and  of  bare  feet  thrust  into  bedroom  slippers 
and  needs  must  hide  them,  and  the  better  to  do  so,  sank 
upon  the  bed,  her  feet  tucked  under  her.  So  she  sat,  just 
beyond  his  reach,  and,  conscious  of  scanty  draperies, 
shook  her  shining  hair  about  her,  veiling  herself  in  its 
glory. 

"  Hermione,"  he  said  unsteadily,  "I  —  I  never  knew 
quite  how  beautiful  you  were  —  and  we  —  we  are  mar 
ried,  it  seems !  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  softly. 

"  And  now  I  'm  —  I  'm  afraid  I  'm  going  to  —  live ! " 

"Afraid?" 

"  It  —  it  almost  seems  as  though  I  had  married  you 
under  false  pretences,  doesn't  it?  But  the  doctors  and 
everybody  were  so  certain  I  was  to  die  that  I  thought  so 
too.  And  now  —  I  'm  going  to  live,  it  seems." 

She  was  silent,  and  slowly  his  hand  went  out  to  her 
again,  and  slowly  hers  went  to  meet  it,  but  though  her 
fingers  clasped  and  twined,  thrilling  in  mute  passion  to 
his  touch,  she  came  no  nearer,  but  watched  him  from  the 
shadow  of  her  hair  with  great  troubled  eyes. 


294          The  Definite  Object 

"  Dear,"  he  said,  very  humbly,  "  you  do  —  love  me  still, 
don't  you?  " 

"  More  than  ever." 

"  Then  you  're  not  —  sorry  to  be  my  wife?  " 

"  No  —  ah,  no,  no ! "  she  whispered,  "  never  that !  " 

"  Then,  dear,  won't  you  —  will  you  kiss  me  ?  "  Seeing 
she  hesitated,  he  sank  back  on  his  pillow  and  laughed  a 
little  ruefully.  "  I  forgot  these  confounded  whiskers  — 
I  must  look  an  unholy  object.  Patterson  shall  shave  me, 
and  then  perhaps  —  "  • 

But  sudden  and  warm  and  soft  her  arms  were  about  him, 
and  her  eyes,  troubled  no  longer,  gazed  into  his,  brimful 
of  yearning  tenderness. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear,"  she  murmured,  quick  and 
passionate,  "  as  if  I  should  ever  care  how  you  looked  as 
long  as  you  were  —  just  you.  My  dear,  my  dear,  you 
have  come  back  to  me  from  the  very  gates  of  death  be 
cause  I  —  I —  " 

"  Because  you  nursed  me  so  tenderly !  " 

"  Ah,  no,  there  were  others  to  do  that  —  no,  God  gave 
you  back  to  me  because  He  is  merciful,  and  because  I  love 
you  —  want  you  —  need  you  so  much !  " 

"  Oh,  my  Hermione  —    Kiss  me !  " 

A  knock  at  the  door,  and,  quick-breathing,  she  drew 
from  him  as  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Trapes  reached  them. 

'  Ten  minutes  is  up ! "  she  announced  as  she  entered, 
"  and  Hermy,  if  you  don't  want  th'  doctor  t'  see  you  in 
your  nightdress  an'  that  —  " 

"  Ann !  "  gasped  Hermione,  drawing  the  folds  of  her 
kimono  about  her. 

"  Anyway,  he  's  coming." 

Up  sprang  Hermione,  in  doing  which  she  lost  a  slipper. 

"  Give  it  me ! "  she  pleaded,  for  Ravenslee  had  caught 
it  up. 

"  Dear,  you  have  one  —  be  content,"  he  answered. 
"  And  surely  I  may  kiss  my  wife's  slipper  without  you 
having  to  blush  so  —  so  deliciously,  Hermione?" 

"  It 's  so  —  old  and  shabby !  "  said  she  faintly. 


Out  of  the  Dark  295 

"  That  »s  why  I  kiss  it." 

"  An'  here  comes  th'  doctor ! "  said  Mrs.  Trapes,. 
Whereat  Hermione  incontinent  fled  away,  white  foot 
agleam.  Then  Ravenslee,  having  kissed  the  little  slipper 
quite  brazenly  under  Mrs.  Trapes's  staring  eyes,  tucked 
it  beneath  his  pillow. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Geoffrey ! "  said  Mrs.  Trapes. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 

CONCERNING    A    CLEW 

**  MRS.  TRAPES,"  said  Ravenslee,  laying  aside  the  book  he 
had  been  reading  and  letting  his  glance  wander  across 
smooth  lawns  and  clipped  yew  hedges,  "  Mrs.  Trapes,  what 
about  that  stewed  shin  of  beef  with  carrots  and  onions 
you  prepared  for —  our  wedding  supper?  " 

"  Which,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  glancing  up  from  her  ever 
lasting  knitting,  "  which  you  never  stopped  to  eat." 

"  Which  omission  I  will  now  haste  to  rectify.  Mrs. 
Trapes,  pray  go  and  get  it  ready  —  I  'm  ravenous !  " 

"  Good  f'r  you !  "  said  Mrs.  Trapes ;  "  in  about  half  an 
hour  you  shall  have  a  nice  cup  of  beef  tea  to  raven  at  —  " 

"  Confounded  slops !  "  growled  Ravenslee. 

"  Doctor's  orders !  "  nodded  Mrs.  Trapes,  clicking  her 
knitting  needles. 

"  Can't  I  have  something  to  chew  at?  " 

"  Sure.     How  '11  a  cracker  soaked  in  milk  soot?  " 

"  Cracker !  "  snarled  Ravenslee. 

"  Doctor's  orders !  " 

Ravenslee  muttered  and  took  up  his  book. 

"Helen  who,  did  you  say?"  enquired  Mrs.  Trapes, 
glancing  up.  "  Mr.  Geoffrey  —  I  mean  Ravenslee,  I  'm 
surprised  at  you  —  swearin'  ain't  good  for  a  invalid ;  your 
temperature  '11  be  rose  if  you  swear." 

"  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Trapes,  I  'm  hungry,  very  hungry 
—  darned  hungry ! " 

"  Which  is  a  sign  as  you  're  improvin'  rapid.  Beef 
tea  '11  be  here  soon." 

"I  won't  drink  the  stuff!" 

"  Oh,  but  you  will,  when  Hermy  brings  it." 


Concerning  a  Clew  297 

"  Hermione !  "  said  Ravenslee,  his  voice  grown  gentle, 
and  laying  down  his  book  again.  "  Mrs.  Trape»,  have  you 
noticed  any  change  in  her  lately?  " 

"  A  bit  handsomer,  p'r'aps  —  " 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  mean  that ;  it 's  something  that  puz 
zles  me.  She  seems  to  have  grown  more  —  more  reserved 
and  shy  —  " 

"  Well,  she  was  married  to  you  before  she  knew  it  kind 
of,  almost." 

"  Do  you  suppose  that 's  it?  " 

"  Sure !  What  you  got  t'  do,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  is  —  woo 
her!  Woo  her  all  you  know  how.  The  best  woman  can't 
be  wooed  too  hard  nor  too  frequent —  so  you  start  in  an* 
woo." 

"  But  sometimes  it  has  almost  seemed  that  she  —  avoided 
me." 

"  Well,  don't  let  her." 

"  Do  you  suppose  she  's  grieving  for  Spike?  " 

"  Well,  he  ain't  exactly  a  j  'y  t'  her.  There  he  is  going 
straight  to  the  devil  along  o'  that  Bud  M'Ginnis !  " 

"  I  must  go  and  fetch  him  as  soon  as  I  can  get  about 
again." 

"  If  he  '11  come." 

"  Oh,  he  '11  come,"  said  Ravenslee  grimly.  "  I  've  de 
cided  to  send  him  to  college  —  " 

"If  he'll  go!" 

"  Oh,  he  '11  go  —  there  's  quite  a  lot  of  good  in  him, 
Mrs.  Trapes." 

"  Only  it 's  mighty  hard  to  find,  Mr.  Geoffrey !  If  that 
b'y  wants  t'  go  t'  th'  devil,  to  th'  devil  he  '11  go.  What 
you  got  t'  do  is  t'  make  her  forget  him  —  if  you  can.  Oh, 
drat  him,  anyway !  "  and  squaring  her  elbows,  Mrs.  Trapes 
knitted  so  angrily  that  her  knitting  needles  clashed  like 
weapons  fiercely  opposed. 

"  Yes,  but  suppose  she  is  grieving  for  him,  Mrs. 
Trapes?" 

"  Why  then,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  why  then  —  oh, 
shucks  —  I  guess  I  '11  go  an'  see  after  that  beef  tea." 


298  The  Definite  Object 

When  she  had  gone,  Ravenslee  sat  plunged  in  gloomy 
thought  until  roused  by  the  sound  of  approaching  feet 
with  a  creak  of  shoes,  a  loud,  arrogant  creak  there  was 
no  mistaking,  and  the  Old  Un  appeared  followed  by  Joe 
and  the  Spider,  the  latter  looking  very  smart  in  his  new 
livery. 

"  Guv,"  said  the  Old  Un,  "  best  respex !  'Ere  we  be, 
come  to  say  'ow  glad  we  are  t'  see  you  come  up  smilin'  an* 
ready  for  more  after  Fate  ketchin'  ye  a  perishin'  wallop 
as  we  all  thought  'ad  doubled  ye  up  till  the  day  o'  doom. 
'Ere  you  are,  on  your  pins  again,  an'  'ere  's  us  come  t' 
give  ye  greetin's  doo  an'  j'y  o'  your  marriage  —  shut  up, 
Joe!" 

"  Why,  I  was  n't  speakin' !  "  growled  Joe. 

"  No,  but  you  meant  to  —  you  're  always  meanin'  to, 
you  are.  Guv,"  continued  the  Old  Un,  "  folks  is  allus 
a-givin'  an'  takin'  in  marriage  in  this  'ere  world,  such  bein' 
their  natur'  —  they  can't  'elp  it !  But  never  in  this  world 
nor  no  other  was  there  ever  sich  a  weddin'  as  yours.  There 
was  'er  so  young  an'  fair  an'  full  o'  life,  an'  there  was  you 
so  pale  an'  nigh  to  death  —  one  leg  in  the  grave  —  an' 
there  was  me  s'  full  o'  years  an'  wisdom  an'  sorrer  for  ye 
both  —  oh,  my  pore  old  bowels  was  fair  yearnin'  over 
ye  —  " 

"  Lord,  Old  Un,"  expostulated  Joe,  "  you  keep  them 
bowels  o'  yours  out  of  it  —  " 

"  Shut  up,  Joe,  in  your  ignorance ;  bowels  is  in  the 
Bible,  an'  bowels  I  abide  by  now  and  forever,  amen !  Well, 
there  we  all  were,  Guv,  bendin'  o'er  your  couch  o'  care 
very  silent  an'  solemn, 

'  Not  a  drum  was  'card,  not  a  funereal  note ' 

an'  there  was  you  s'  pale  an'  nigh  t'  death  —  " 
"  You  said  all  that  afore,  Old  Un ! "  growled  Joe. 
"  You  leave  me  alone,  Joe,"  said  the  Old  Un,  scowling 
and  flourishing  a  trembling  fist,  "  you  lemme  be,  or  you  '11 
be  pale  an'  nigh  t'  death  next.    Well,  there  was  you,  Guv, 
an'  all  s'  pale  an'  still  when:  * 'Oo  giveth  this  woman?' 


Concerning  a  Clew  299 

says  the  parson-cove  very  solemn.  *  That 's  me ! '  says  I, 
quick  an'  ready.  An'  so,  me  'avin'  'elped  t'  marry  you, 
I  've  brought  Joe  an'  Spider  t'  wish  you  'ealth  an'  'appi- 
ness  an'  a  j'y  continual.  Now,  Joe,  it's  your  round  — 
speak  up !  " 

"  Sir,"  said  Joe  heavily,  "  I  —  we  —  I  mean  —  Lord, 
sir,  I  am  that  glad  —  ah,  glad  as  —  as  never  was  —  " 

"That'll  do  for  you,  Joe!"  snapped  the  Old  Un. 
"  Spider's  round." 

Hereupon  the  Spider  lurched  forward,  hunched  his  wide 
shoulders,  took  off  his  smart  cap,  and  stared  at  it  very 
hard. 

"  Bo,"  said  he,  chewing  vigorously,  "  I  mean  boss  —  er 

—  no,  that  ain't  right  either  —  this  is  sure  a  bum  start 
I  'm  makin'  —  " 

"  *  Bo  '  will  do,  Spider,"  said  Ravenslee,  "  let  it  go  at 
that." 

"  Why  then,  bo,  I  ain't  one  as  is  ever  goin'  t'  win  any 
gold-mounted  testimonials  at  any  talk-fest  or  heart-throb- 
bin'  spiel-act,  but  what  I  wanter  tell  you  is  this  —  an'  I 
guess  you  know  I  ain't  only  breathin'  out  puffs  o'  hot  air 

—  I  want  yer  t'  know  as  I  feel  about  you  like  —  like  Joe 
an'  the  Old  Un  does  —  an'  then  some  more.     Y'  see,  bo, 
though  I  ain't  never  held  a  straight  flush  agin  four  aces 
an'  don't  expect  to,  though  I  shan't  ever  be  a  world's 
champion  like  Joe  here  —  I  guess  I  know  to-day  what  it 
feels  like,  because  you  ain't  goin'  t'  snuff  it,  after  all  — 
an'  now  I  guess  you  're  on."     Saying  which,  the  Spider 
dexterously  shifted  his  wad  to  the  other  cheek  and  chewed 
faster  than  ever. 

"  I  am,  Spider,  and  I  want  you  to  know  I  'm  grateful 
to  you,  all  three.  Also  I  want  to  thank  you  all  for  keep 
ing  this  affair  out  of  the  papers,  though  how  you  managed 
it  beats  me." 

"  Guv,"  cried  the  Old  Un,  tremulous  and  eager,  "  oh, 
Guv,  we  're  fair  sleuth-hounds,  we  are  —  specially  me. 
There  ain't  a  'tective  nor  secret-service  cove  nor  bloomin' 
bobby  fit  to  black  our  shoes  —  specially  mine !  Y'  see, 


300          The  Definite  Object 

Guv,  I  know  who  done  it ;  Joe  thinks  he  knows ;  an'  Spider 
don't  think  at  all !  " 

"  Oh?  "  said  Ravenslee,  and  looking  around,  caught  the 
Spider  watching  him  wide-eyed,  his  jaws  grimly  tense 
and  immobile ;  but  meeting  his  glance,  the  Spider  lowered 
his  eyes,  shifted  his  smartly-gaitered  legs,  and  chewed 
viciously. 

"  So,  Guv,"  piped  the  Old  Un  cheerily,  "  we  're  out  for 
the  criminal's  gore  —  specially  me.  We  're  goin'  to  track 
the  perisher  to  'is  'orrible  doom  — 

'  Where'er  he  be 
To  th'  gallers  tree 
Oh,  Guv,  we  mean  t'  bring  him; 
An'  laugh  with  j'y 
When  nice  an'  'igh 
The  blinkin'  bobbies  swing  'im.'  " 

"  And  you  think  you  know  who  it  was  ?  " 

"  I  do,  Guv,  I  do !  "  nodded  the  Old  Un.  "  I  knows  as 
'twas  a  enemy  as  done  it;  Joe  thinks  it  was  one  o'  them 
gang  fellers,  an'  Spider  don't  say  who  he  thinks  done  it." 

Once  again  Ravenslee  caught  the  Spider's  eye  watching 
him  furtively,  and  once  again  he  noticed  that  the  Spider's 
jaws  were  clamped  hard,  while  he  was  twisting  his  natty 
chauffeur's  cap  in  fingers  strangely  agitated. 

"  Sir,"  said  Joe,  "  me  an'  the  Spider  searched  that  wood, 
an'  we  found  a  coat  —  " 

"  Shut  up,  Joe,"  snarled  the  Old  Un,  "  you  're  tellin'  it 
all  wrong.  Guv,  Joe  an'  the  Spider  went  a-seekin'  an' 
a-searchin'  that  wood,  an'  they  found  a  —  cloo  —  " 

"Oh?"  said  Ravenslee. 

"  A  cloo  as  is  a-goin'  t'  'ang  somebody  yet  —  a  cloo, 
Guv,  as  ain't  t'  be  ekalled  for  blood-guilt  an'  mystery. 
Joe,"  said  the  Old  Un,  sinking  his  voice  to  a  hoarse  whis 
per,  "the  hour  is  come  —  perjooce  the  cloo!" 

Hereupon  Joe  produced  a  pocketbook  and  took  thence 
a  highly  ornate  coat  button  whereto  a  shred  of  cloth  was 
attached. 


Concerning  a  Clew  301 

"  I  found  this,  sir,"  said  he,  "  close  by  where  you  was 
a-lyin'."  So  Ravenslee  took  the  button  upon  his  palm, 
and,  as  he  eyed  it,  the  Spider  saw  his  black  brows  twitch 
suddenly  together,  then  —  he  yawned. 

"  And  you  found  this  in  the  wood,  Joe  ?  "  he  enquired 
sleepily. 

"  I  did,  sir.  With  that  to  help  'em,  the  perlice  would 
have  the  murdering  cove  in  no  time,  and  more  than  once 
I  've  been  going  to  hand  it  over  to  'em.  But  then  I  thought 
I  'd  better  wait  a  bit ;  if  you  died  was  time  enough,  an* 
if  you  did  n't  I  'd  keep  it  for  you  —  so,  sir,  there  it  is." 

"  You  did  quite  right,  Joe.  Yes,  you  did  very  right 
indeed!" 

For  a  long  moment  Ravenslee  sat  languidly  twisting  the 
button  in  thin  white  fingers,  then  flicked  it  far  out  over  the 
balustrade  down  among  the  dense  evergreens  in  the  garden 
below.  The  Old  Un  gasped,  Joe  gaped,  and  the  Spider 
sighed  audibly. 

"  Lorgorramighty !  Oh,  Guv,  Guv  —  "  quavered  the 
old  man,  "  you  've  throwed  away  our  cloo  —  our  blood- 
cloo  —  th'  p'lice  —  you  've  lost  our  evidence  —  " 

"  Old  Un,  of  course  I  have !  You  see,  I  don't  like  clews, 
or  blood,  or  the  police.  You  have  all  been  clever  enough, 
wise  enough  to  keep  this  confounded  business  quiet,  and 
so  will  I  —  " 

"  But,  oh,  Guv,  arter  somebody  tryin'  t'  kill  ye  like  a 
dog  —  ain't  there  goin'  t'  be  no  vengeance,  no  gallers-tree, 
no  'lectric  chair  nor  nothin'  —  " 

"  Nothing !  "  answered  Ravenslee  gently.  "  Somebody 
tried  to  kill  me,  but  somebody  did  n't  kill  me ;  here  I  am, 
getting  stronger  every  day,  so  we  '11  let  it  go  at  that." 

"  Why  then  —  I  'm  done !  "  said  the  Old  Un,  rising. 
"  Guv,  you  're  crool  an'  stony-'earted !  'Ere  's  me,  a  pore 
old  cove  as  has  been  dreamin'  an'  dreamin'  o'  gallers-trees 
an'  'lectric  chairs,  and  'ere  's  you  been  an'  took  'em  off 
me !  Guv,  I  'm  disapp'inted  wi'  ye.  Oh,  ingratitood,  thou 
art  the  Guv !  "  So  saying,  the  Old  Un  clapped  on  his  hat 
and  creaked  indignantly  away. 


302          The  Definite  Object 

"  Crumbs !  "  exclaimed  Joe,  "  what  a  bloodthirsty  old 
cove  he  is,  with  his  gallers-trees !  This  means  j  am,  this 
does." 

"  Jam  ?  "  repeated  Ravenslee  wonderingly. 

"  Sir,  whenever  the  Old  Un  's  put  out,  'e  flies  to  jam 
same  as  some  chaps  do  to  drink;  makes  a  fair  old  beast 
of  hisself ,  he  do.  If  you  '11  excuse  us,  sir,  Spider  an'  me  '11 
just  keep  a  eye  on  him  to  see  as  he  don't  go  upsettin'  his 
old  innards  again." 

Ravenslee  nodded,  and  smiling,  watched  them  hurry 
after  the  little  old  man;  but  gradually  his  amusement 
waned,  and  he  became  lost  in  frowning  thought.  So  deeply 
abstracted  was  he  that  he  started  to  find  Mrs.  Trapes 
regarding  him  with  her  sharp,  bright  eyes. 

"  Mr.  Geoffrey,  here  's  a  cup  o'  beef  tea  as  I  've  pre 
pared  with  my  own  hand  —  " 

"  But  where  's  —  " 

"  She 's  gone  t'  bed.  Here  's  a  cup  o*  beef  tea  as  is  stiff 
with  nourishment,  so  get  it  into  your  system  good  an' 
quick." 

"  Gone  to  bed  —  " 

"  She  says  it  's  a  headache,  o*  course  —  drink  it  down 
while  it 's  hot  —  but  I  reckon  it 's  more  'n  a  headache  — 
yes,  sir.  A  while  back  I  says  t'  you  — '  woo  her,'  I  says, 
Mr.  Geoffrey.  I  now  says  —  let  her  alone  awhile.  The 
poor  child  's  all  wore  out  —  it 's  nerves  as  is  the  matter 
with  her,  I  reckon.  So,  Mr.  Ravenslee,  be  patient,  this 
ain't  no  wooin'  time ;  it 's  rest  she  needs  an'  change  of 
air  —  " 

"Why,  then,  Mrs.  Trapes,  she  shall  have  them  I" 


CHAPTER    XXXVII 

THE   WOES   OF   MR.   BRIMBERLY 

MR.  BRIMBERLY,  having  dined  well  as  was  his  custom, 
lay  at  his  ease  in  a  luxurious  lounge  chair  in  the  shade  of 
the  piazza;  the  day  was  hot,  wherefore  on  a  table  at  his 
elbow  was  a  syphon,  a  bottle,  and  a  long  glass  in  which  ice 
tinkled  alluringly;  between  his  plump  fingers  was  a  large 
cigar  and  across  his  plump  knees  was  an  open  paper  over 
which  he  yawned  and  puffed  and  sipped  in  turn.  Never 
theless  Mr.  Brimberly  was  bored  and  dropping  the  paper, 
languidly  cherished  a  languorous  whisker,  staring  dull- 
eyed  across  stately  terraces  and  wide,  neat  lawns  to  where, 
beyond  winding  yew  walks  and  noble  trees,  the  distant 
river  flowed. 

Presently  as  he  sat  he  was  aware  of  a  small  girl  in  a 
white  pinafore  approaching  along  one  of  these  walks  —  a 
small  being  who  hopped  along  by  means  of  a  little  crutch 
and  sang  to  herself  in  a  soft,  happy  voice. 

Mr.  Brimberly  blinked. 

Heedless  of  the  eyes  that  watched  her,  the  child  turned 
into  the  rose  garden,  pausing  now  and  then  to  inhale  the 
scent  of  some  great  bloom  that  filled  the  air  with  its 
sweetness. 

Mr.  Brimberly  sat  up,  for  he  permitted  few  to  enter 
the  rose  garden. 

All  at  once  the  child,  singing  still,  reached  up  and  broke 
off  a  great  scarlet  bloom. 

Mr.  Brimberly  arose. 

"  Little  girl !  "  he  called,  in  voice  round  and  sonorous, 
"  little  girl,  come  you  'ere  and  come  immediate !  " 


304          The  Definite  Object 

The  child  started,  turned,  and  after  a  moment's  hesita 
tion  hobbled  forward,  her  little  face  as  white  as  her  pina 
fore.  At  the  foot  of  the  broad  steps  leading  up  to  the 
piazza  she  paused,  looking  up  at  him  with  great,  pleading 
eyes. 

Mr.  Brimberly  beckoned  with  portentous  finger. 

"  Little  girl,  come  'ere !  "  he  repeated.  "  Come  up  'ere 
and  come  immediate !  " 

The  small  crutch  tapped  laboriously  up  the  steps,  and 
she  stood  before  Mr.  Brimberly's  imposing  figure  mute, 
breathless,  and  trembling  a  little. 

"  Little  girl,"  he  demanded,  threatening  of  whisker, 
"  'oo  are  you  and  —  what?  " 

"  Please,  I  'm  Hazel." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  nodded  Mr.  Brimberly,  pulling  at  his 
waistcoat.  "  'Azel  'oo,  'Azel  what — and  say  'sir'  next 
time,  if  you  please." 

"  Hazel  Bowker,  sir,"  and  she  dropped  him  a  little 
curtsey,  spoiled  somewhat  by  agitation  and  her  crutch. 

"Bowker — Bowker?"  mused  Mr.  Brimberly.  "I've 
'card  the  name  —  I  don't  like  the  name,  but  I  've  'card  it." 

"  My  daddy  works  here,  sir,"  said  Hazel  timidly. 

"  Bowker —  Bowker !  "  repeated  Mr.  Brimberly.  "  Ah, 
to  be  sure  —  one  of  the  hunder  gardeners  as  I  put  on  three 
or  four  weeks  ago." 

"  Yes,  please,  sir." 

"  Little  girl,  what  are  you  a-doin'  in  that  garden  ?  Why 
are  you  wandering  in  the  vi-cinity  of  this  mansion  ?  " 

"  Please,  I  'm  looking  for  Hermy." 

"'Ermy?"  repeated  Mr.  Brimberly,  " 'Ermy?  Wot 
kind  of  creater  may  that  be?  Is  it  a  dog?  Is  it  a  cat? 
Wot  is  it?  " 

"  It 's  only  my  Princess  Nobody,  sir !  " 

"  Oh,  a  friend  of  yours  —  ha !  Persons  of  that  class  do 
not  pervade  these  regions !  And  wot  do  I  be'old  grasped 
in  your  'and?  " 

Hazel  looked  down  at  the  rose  she  held  and  trembled 
anew. 


The  Woes  of  Mr.  Brimberly      305 

"Little  girl  —  wot  is  it?"  demanded  the  inexorable 
voice. 

"  A  rose,  sir." 

"  Was  it  —  your  rose?  " 

"  N-no,  sir." 

"  Don't  you  know  as  it 's  a  wicked  hact  to  take  what 
ain't  yours?  Don't  you  know  as  it's  thieving  and  rob 
bery,  and  that  thieving  and  robbery  leads  to  prison  bars 
and  shackle-chains  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  —  I  did  n't  mean  —  "  the  little  voice  was 
choked  with  sobs. 

"  Well,  let  this  be  a  warning  to  you  to  thieve  no  more, 
or  next  time  I  shall  'ave  to  become  angry.  Now  —  go 
'ence ! " 

Dropping  the  rose  the  child  turned  and  hobbled  away 
as  fast  as  her  crutch  would  allow,  and  Mr.  Brimberly, 
having  watched  her  out  of  sight,  emptied  his  glass  and 
took  up  his  cigar,  but,  finding  it  had  gone  out,  flung  it 
away.  Then  he  sighed  and,  sinking  back  among  his 
cushions,  closed  his  eyes,  and  was  soon  snoring  blissfully. 

But  by  and  by  Mr.  Brimberly  began  to  dream,  a  very 
evil  dream  wherein  it  seemed  that  for  many  desperate  deeds 
and  crime  abominable  he  was  chained  and  shackled  in  a 
dock,  and  the  judge,  donning  the  black  cap,  sentenced  him 
to  be  shorn  of  those  adornments,  his  whiskers.  In  his 
dream  it  seemed  that  there  and  then  the  executioner  ad 
vanced  to  his  fell  work  —  a  bony  hand  grasped  his  right 
whisker,  the  deadly  razor  flashed,  and  Mr.  Brimberly 
awoke  gurgling  —  awoke  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  hand  so 
hastily  withdrawn  that  it  seemed  to  vanish  into  thin  air. 

"  'Eavens  and  earth !  "  he  gasped,  and  clapping  hand  to 
cheek  was  relieved  to  find  his  whisker  yet  intact,  but  for 
a  long  moment  sat  clutching  that  handful  of  soft  and 
fleecy  hair,  staring  before  him  in  puzzled  wonder,  for  the 
hand  had  seemed  so  very  real  he  could  almost  feel  it  there 
yet.  Presently,  bethinking  him  to  glance  over  his  shoul 
der,  Mr.  Brimberly  gasped  and  goggled,  for  leaning  over 
the  back  of  his  chair  was  a  little,  old  man,  very  slender, 


306  The  Definite  Object 

very  upright,  and  very  smart  as  to  attire,  who  fanned 
himself  with  a  j  aunty  straw  hat  banded  in  vivid  crimson ; 
an  old  man  whose  bright,  youthful  eyes  looked  out  from 
a  face  wizened  with  age,  while  up  from  his  bald  crown 
rose  a  few  wisps  of  white  and  straggling  hair. 

"  'Oly  'eavens !  "  murmured  Mr.  Brimberly  in  a  faint 
voice. 

The  visitor,  settling  his  bony  elbows  more  comfortably, 
fanned  himself  until  his  sparse  locks  waved  gently  to  and 
fro,  and,  nodding,  spoke  these  words: 

"  Oh,  wake  thee,  oh,  wake  thee,  my  bonny  bird. 
Oh,  wake  and  sleep  no  more; 
Thy  pretty  pipe  I  'ave  n't  'card. 
But,  lumme,  how  you  snore! " 

Mr.  Brimberly  stared;  Mr.  Brimberly's  mouth  opened, 
and  eventually  Mr.  Brimberly  rose  and  surveyed  the  in 
truder  slowly,  up  from  glittering  shoes  to  the  dome  of  his 
head  and  down  again;  and  Mr.  Brimberly's  ample  bosom 
surged, 1  .5  eye  kindled,  and  his  whiskers  — ! 

"  Cheer-o!  "  nodded  the  Old  Un. 

Mr.  Brimberly  blinked  and  pulled  down  his  waistcoat. 

"  Me  good  man,"  said  he,  "  you  '11  find  the  tradesmen's 
entrance  round  the  corner.  Go  away,  if  you  please,  and 
go  immediate  —  I  'm  prehoccupied." 

"  No,  you  ain't ;  you  're  the  butler,  you  are,  I  lay  my 
oath  — 

'  Spoons  an'  forks 
An'  drawin'  corks ' 

that 's  your  job,  ain't  it,  chum?  " 

"  Chum ! "  said  Mr.  Brimberly  in  tones  of  horror. 
"  Chum ! "  he  repeated,  grasping  a  handful  of  indignant 
whisker.  "  Oh,  outragious  !  Oh,  very  hobscene !  'Ow  dare 
you,  sir?  'Oo  are  you,  sir,  eh,  sir — answer  me,  an'  an 
swer  —  prompt ! " 

"  Leave  them  cobwebs  alone,  an*  I  '11  tell  you,  matey." 

"  Matey !  "  groaned  Mr.  Brimberly,  turning  up  his  eyes. 

"  I  'm  the  Guv's  familiar  friend  and  personal  pal,  I  am. 


The  Woes  of  Mr.  Brimberly      307 

I  'm  'is  adviser,  confeedential,  matreemonial,  circumstan 
tial,  an'  architect'ral.  I  'm  'is  trainer,  advance  agent, 
manager,  an'  sparrin'  partner  —  that 's  who  I  am.  An' 
now,  mate,  'avin'  'elped  to  marry  'im,  I  've  j  est  took  a  run 
down  'ere  to  see  as  all  things  is  fit  an'  proper  for  'is 
'oneymoon ! " 

"  My  word,  this  is  a  mad  feller,  this  is !  "  murmured  Mr. 
Brimberly,  "  or  else  'e  's  drunk !  " 

"  Drunk?  "  exclaimed  the  Old  Un,  clapping  on  his  hat 
very  much  over  one  eye  and  glaring,  "wot  —  me?" 

*'  I  repeat,"  said  Mr.  Brimberly,  addressing  the  universe 
in  general,  "  I  repeats  as  'e  is  a  narsty,  drunken  little 
person !  " 

"  Person  ?  "  cried  the  Old  Un,  scowling,  "  why,  you 
perishin'  —  " 

"'Old!"  said  Mr.  Brimberly,  "'old,  I  beg!  Enough 
'as  been  said  —  go  'ence !  'Oo  you  are  I  do  not  know,  wot 
you  are  I  do  not  care,  but  in  these  regions  you  do  not 
remain ;  your  langwidge  forbids  and  —  " 

"Langwidge?"  snorted  the  Old  Un.  "  Whyf  I  ain't 
begun  yet,  you  blinkin',  fat-faced,  owl-eyed  piece  o' 
sooet  —  " 

"  Your  speech,  sir,"  continued  Mr.  Brimberly  with  calm 
austerity  and  making  the  most  of  whiskers  and  waistcoat, 
"  your  speech  is  re-dolent  of  slums  and  back  halleys.  I 
don't  know  you.  I  don't  want  to  know  you!  You  are  a 
feller !  Go  away,  feller !  " 

"  Feller?  "  snarled  the  Old  Un,  "  why  you  —  " 

"  I  repeat,"  said  Mr.  Brimberly  with  dignified  delibera 
tion,  "  I  repeat  as  you  are  a  very  low,  vulgar  little  feller !  " 

The  Old  Un  clenched  his  fists. 

"Right-o!"  he  nodded  cheerily.  "That's  done  it! 
F'  that  I  'm  a-goin'  t'  punch  ye  in  th'  perishin'  eye-'ole !  " 
And  he  advanced  upon  the  points  of  his  toes,  shoulders 
hunched,  and  head  viciously  outthrust. 

"  My  word ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Brimberly,  retreating 
rather  precipitately,  "  this  is  very  discomposing,  this  is ! 
I  shall  have  to  call  the  perlice." 


308  The  Definite  Object 

"  Perlice !  "  snarled  the  Old  Un,  fiercer  than  ever,  "  you 
won't  have  nothing  t'  call  with  when  I  've  done  wi'  ye. 
I  'm  goin'  t'  j  ab  ye  on  th'  beak  t'  begin  with,  then  I  '11 
'ook  my  left  t'  your  kidneys  an'  swing  my  right  to  your 
p'int  an'  crumple  ye  up  with  a  jolt  on  your  perishin'  solar 
plexus  as  '11  stiffen  you  till  th'  day  o'  doom ! " 

"  'Oly  angels ! "  murmured  Mr.  Brimberly,  glancing 
hastily  about. 

"  Then  while  you  lay  bathed  in  'orrible  gore,  I  'm  goin' 
t'  twist  them  whiskers  into  a  'angman's  knot !  " 

"This  is  most  distressing!"  sighed  Mr.  Brimberly. 

"  Then,"  continued  the  Old  Un,  grinding  his  remaining 
teeth,  "  I  'm  a-goin'  t'  tread  your  face  in  an'  dance  on 
y'r  blighted  stummick.  Arter  that  —  " 

"  Oh,  dear  me ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Brimberly,  retreating 
before  the  oncoming  peril  and  mopping  perspiring  brow. 
But  suddenly  his  wandering  eye  was  arrested  by  velvet 
and  gold  braid,  and  lifting  up  his  voice  he  called : 

"  William !     James !     Come  'ere  —  and  come  sharp ! " 

Two  vast  and  splendid  shapes  loomed  upon  the  scene, 
supermen  whose  silken  calves  quivered  with  unaccustomed 
haste;  at  a  sign  from  Mr.  Brimberly  they  seized  upon 
the  Old  Un  and,  despite  ghoulish  threats,  solemnly  bore 
him  off. 

Down  the  broad  sweep  of  drive  they  went,  the  Old  Un 
po  ring  forth  fluent  curses  with  every  step,  until  they 
came  to  a  powerful  automobile  from  beneath  which  a  pair 
of  neatly  gaitered  legs  protruded. 

"  Joe !  "  cried  the  Old  Un,  apostrophising  these  legs, 
"  Joe,  stop  bein'  a  crawlin'  worm  —  come  out  an'  bash 
these  perishers  for  me,  like  a  good  lad !  "  But  even  while 
he  spoke,  the  footmen  hauled  him  along,  so  that  when  Joe 
eventually  wriggled  from  under  the  car  the  three  were  close 
against  the  great  gates. 

The  Old  Un  was  earnestly  explaining  to  his  captors 
exactly  what  he  thought  of  them,  of  their  fathers  and 
mothers,  their  kith  and  kin,  and  the  supermen  were  heed 
ing  him  not  the  least,  when  a  thunderbolt  seemed  to  smite 


The  Woes  of  Mr.  Brimberly      309 

them  asunder,  and  Joe  was  glancing  mild-eyed  from  one 
splendid,  supine  form  to  the  other. 

"  Hullo,  Old  Un !  "  said  he,  "  what 's  the  matter  now, 
you  old  book  o'  bad  language,  you?  " 

But  Mr.  Brimberly,  somewhat  shaken  with  his  late  in 
terview  and  feeling  the  need  of  a  stimulant,  had  just  re 
filled  the  long  glass  when,  hearing  a  rustle  behind  him,  he 
turned  and  beheld  a  tall  woman,  elderly  and  angular,  es 
pecially  as  to  chin  and  elbows,  which  last  obtruded  them 
selves  quite  unpleasantly;  at  least,  as  he  eyed  them  there 
was  manifest  disapprobation  in  every  hair  of  his  whiskers. 

"  Now  I  wonder,"  he  sighed  plaintively,  "  I  wonder  what 
under  the  blue  expandment  of  'oly  'eaven  you  might  be, 
because  if  you  'appen  to  be  the  washing  —  " 

"  I  —  am  —  not !  " 

"  Or  the  cannybal  missions  —  " 

"  No  —  sech  —  thing !  " 

"  Oh !  "  said  Mr.  Brimberly,  and  his  gaze  wandered  to 
the  elbows.  "  Why,  then,  let  me  hinform  you  —  " 

"  Ann  Angelina  Trapes  is  me  name." 

"  Why  then,  ma'am,  you  've  took  the  wrong  turning. 
'Owbeit  an'  notwithstanding,  'ooever  you  are  and  never 
theless,  you  will  find  the  tradespeople's  entra  —  " 

"  You  're  the  gentleman  as  is  so  obligin'  as  to  be  Mr. 
Ravenslee's  butler,  ain't  you?  " 

"  Sich  is  my  perfession,"  Mr.  Brimberly  admitted.  I 
am  in  sole  charge  of  these  pre-mises  and  so  being  will  ask 
you  to  withdraw  'ence  immediate.  I  will  ask  —  " 

"  An'  I  '11  ask  you,  very  p'inted,  what  you  reckon  you  're 
doin'  in  that  chair?  " 

"  Doing?  " 

"  I  '11  ask  you,  very  p'inted,  why  you  're  loafin'  around 
wastin'  your  master's  time?  " 

"  Loafing?  "  cried  Mr.  Brimberly,  very  red  in  the  face. 
"  Loaf  —  " 

"  I  also  ask  you,  very  p'inted,  wherefore  an'  why  you 
loaf,  guzzlin'  an'  swillin'  your  master's  good  liquor?" 


310  The  Definite  Object 

"  Guzzling !  "  gasped  ^lr.  Brimberly.  "  Oh,  'eavens, 
this  is  a  outrage,  this  is !  I  '11  —  " 

"  It  sure  is  !     An'  so  are  you,  winebibber !  " 

"  Winebib — "  Mr.  Brimberly  choked,  his  round  face 
grew  purple,  and  he  flourished  pudgy  fists  while  Mrs. 
Trapes  folded  her  cotton-gloved  hands  and  watched  him. 

"  Winebibber !  "  she  nodded.  "  An'  the  wine  as  you 
now  bib  is  your  master's,  consequently  it  was  stole,  an' 
Ijein'  stole  you  're  a  thief,  an'  bein'  a  thief  —  " 

"Thief!"  gurgled  Mr.  Brimberly.  "Ha,  thief's  a 
hepithet,  thief  is,  and  a  hepithet 's  hactionable !  I  '11  'ave 
you  indented  for  perjoorious  expressions  —  " 

"  Winebibber !  "  she  sighed.     "  Snake  an'  plunderer ! " 

"  Never,"  cried  Mr.  Brimberly,  "  never  in  all  my  days 
did  I  ever  'earken  to  such  contoomacious  contoomacity ! 
'Oo  are  you  an'  wot  —  " 

"  Hand  over  that  bottle  and  what  you  've  left  o'  them 
cigars !  " 

"  Woman,  begone !  "  he  cried  hoarsely.  "  Woman,  if 
you  don't  go  'ence  this  very  moment,  I  '11  have  you  perse 
cuted  with  the  hutmost  vigour  o'  the  law  for  a  incorrigible 
—  female !  " 

"  Female !  "  repeated  Mrs.  Trapes ;  and  clasping  her 
self  in  her  long,  bony  arms  she  shuddered  and  smiled, 
though  her  eyes  glared  more  stonily,  and  her  elbows  sug 
gested  rapier  points,  daggers,  and  other  deadly  weapons 
of  offence. 

"  Female  it  were,  I  think  ?  "  she  enquired  with  another 
grim  and  smiling  shudder.  "  Now,  sir,  to  you  I  sez,  de 
based  creecher,  I  sez,  vulgar  an'  dishonest  loafer,  I  sez, 
sly  an*  subtle  serpent,  I  sez,  return  to  the  back  scullery 
wherefrom  you  sprang  lest  I  seize  you  by  the  hair  of  your 
cheeks  an'  bounce  your  silly  head  against  the  wall  —  fre 
quent,  I  sez ! "  and  very  slowly,  Mrs.  Trapes  moved 
toward  him. 

Mr.  Brimberly  hesitated,  but  before  those  deadly  elbows 
he  blenched,  his  whiskers  wilted  all  at  once,  and  he  re 
treated  backwards;  across  the  spacious  drawing  room, 


The  Woes  of  Mr.  Brimberly      311 

along  the  hall  and  down  the  stairs  he  went,  his  pace  ever 
accelerating,  until,  in  full  flight,  he  reached  the  sanctuary 
of  his  pantry,  where,  having  locked  himself  securely  in, 
he  sank  panting  into  a  chair  to  mop  beaded  brow. 
"  My  word !  "  said  Mr.  Brimberly. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII 

IN   WHICH    SOAPY    TAKES    UPON    HIMSELF   A   NEW 

SOAPY  was  alone,  which  in  itself  was  no  new  thing,  for 
Soapy  was  a  solitary  soul  at  all  times;  but  just  now  he 
sat  close  against  the  rotting  fence  which  skirted  that 
desolation  behind  O'Rourke's  saloon.  Moreover,  it  was 
night,  and  solitude  profound  was  his.  He  sat  on  a  bat 
tered  and  disused  pail  that  chanced  to  be  handy,  a  smoul 
dering  cigarette  dangling  from  his  thin-lipped  mouth,  his 
long  hands  pendulous  between  his  knees,  his  pallid  eyelids 
sleepily  a-droop ;  but  his  eyes,  quick  and  watchful,  scanned 
the  deeper  gloom  of  fence  and  dismal  outbuilding,  and  he 
sat  there  very  patient  and  very  still.  At  last  he  stirred 
slightly,  the  cigarette  quivered  and  was  motionless  again, 
for,  amid  the  shadows,  he  had  seen  a  dim  shape  that  flitted 
swiftly  toward  him ;  on  it  came,  creeping  swift  and  silent 
beside  the  fence,  nearer  and  nearer  until  it  resolved  itself 
into  a  slender  form.  Then  Soapy  spoke. 

"  Hello,  Kid !  " 

Ensued  a  moment  of  tense  silence,  then  Spike  answered, 
his  voice  unnaturally  thin  and  high-pitched. 

"  That  —  that  you,  Soapy?  " 

"'S  right,  Kid!" 

"  What  you  —  doin'  around  —  here?  " 

"  Who,  me?  Y*  see,  I  'm  kind  o'  yearnin'  for  that  gun 
you  got  there  —  " 

"  Gun  ?     I  —  I  ain't  got  —  no  gun  —  " 

"  Well,  Kid,  I  know  Heine  's  all  kinds  of  a  liar,  but 
he  tells  me  he 's  loaned  you  one  of  his,  an'  so  — " 
Soapy's  long  arm  shot  out  in  the  gloom  and  seizing  Spike's 
right  arm  he  drew  it  near.  "  Why,  Kid,"  said  he,  "  it 


Soapy  in  a  New  Role         313 

kind  o'  looks  like  Heine  told  the  truth  for  once  by  acci 
dent,  don't  it?  " 

"  You  leggo  my  wrist !  " 

"  Right-o,  Kid,  right-o !    Don't  get  peeved  —  " 

"  Well,  leggo  then !  " 

"  Sure !  Only  this  artillery  ain't  goin'  t'  be  no  good 
t'  you  t'night  —  ye  see,  Bud  —  ain't  here !  'S  rough  on 
ye,  Kid,  's  rough,  but  he  ain't !  " 

"  W  —  what  —  d'  ye  mean  ?  "  stammered  the  boy. 

"  I  mean  as  you  comin'  here  t'  plug  holes  in  Bud's  car 
case  it 's  kind  o'  rough  on  you  as  there  ain't  goin'  t'  be 
no  carcase  here  to  plug.  Y'  see,  Bud  's  took  his  carcase 
up-town  with  him  t'night  —  " 

"  You  're  a  liar,  Soapy,  a  liar !  Bud  's  inside,  I  know 
he  is.  Leggo  my  arm,  you  can't  con  me !  " 

"'S  right,  Kid,  I  ain't  tryin'.  Only  I'm  tellin'  you 
Bud  's  left  me  an'  Lefty  t'  run  things  here  t'night.  Bud  's 
up-town  at  his  old  man's  place.  I  know  because  —  I  sent 
him,  see?  " 

"  You  sent  him  —  you?    Ah,  come  off !    You  could  n't !  " 

"  'S  right,  Kid ;  I  got  him  away  by  a  fake  telegram." 

The  boy  ventured  a  long,  quivering  -sigh,  his  whole 
frame  relaxed,  and  in  that  instant  Soapy  wrenched  the 
weapon  from  his  loosened  hold  and  rose.  Choking  with 
passion,  Spike  sprang  at  him,  but  Soapy  fended  him  off 
with  a  long  arm. 

"  Gimme  that  gun !  " 

"  Behave,  Kid,  behave,  else  I  '11  have  t'  dot  ye  one !  Be 
good  an'  chase  off  home;  this  ain't  no  place  for  you 
t'night  —  nor  no  other  time." 

"  Gimme  that  gun !  " 

"  No !  " 

Spike  ceased  the  useless  struggle  and  leaned  against  the 
fence,  panting,  while  Soapy  reseated  himself  upon  the 
battered  pail. 

"  What  you  got  t'  come  buttin'  in  for  ? "  demanded 
the  boy,  "  this  ain't  your  show,  an'  I  guess  you  ain't  so 
mighty  fond  o'  Bud  either  —  " 


3 14          The  Definite  Object 

"  'S  right,  too,"  nodded  Soapy,  "  no,  I  ain't  exactly 
fond  of  him,  Kid ;  leastways  I  don't  run  t'  help  him  if  he 
falls  nor  kiss  th'  place  t'  make  it  well  —  no,  Kid !  But  I 
kind  o'  feel  that  Bud  's  too  good  t'  snuff  it  this  way,  or 
snuff  it  —  yet !  " 

"  Good?  "  said  the  lad  bitterly,  "  good  —  hell !  He  's 
ruined  me,  Soapy,  he  's  done  me  in !  He  's  come  between 
me  an'  —  an'  Hermy.  He  tried  t'  make  me  think  dirt 
of  her,  an'  now  —  now  I  —  I  'm  all  alone ;  I  ain't  got 
nobody  left  —  oh,  my  God !  "  and  huddling  to  the  fence, 
Spike  broke  out  into  a  fierce  and  anguished  sobbing,  while 
Soapy,  spinning  the  revolver  dexterously  on  his  finger, 
watched  him  under  drooping  lids. 

"  She  was  mighty  good  t'  ye,  Hermy  was !  "  said  he 
thoughtfully. 

"  Don't  —  ah,  don't !  "  gasped  Spike. 

"  An'  when  he  spoke  dirt  of  her,  you  —  believed  him, 
Kid!" 

"  I  did  n't." 

"  You  did,  else  you  'd  have  been  with  her  now.  She  was 
always  good  t'  you,  Hermy  was,  but  you  —  well,  you  pre 
ferred  Bud !  " 

"  I  did  n't,  Soapy ;  God  knows  I  did  n't  —  only  —  I 
thought  Bud  would  make  me  a  champion  —  " 

"  By  gettin'  ye  soused,  Kid !  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  — I  know  now  he  's  only  been  stringin' 
me  all  along  —  I  know  now  it 's  too  late  —  that 's  why 
I  'm  goin'  t'  kill  him." 

"  Kill  him !  "  mused  Soapy.  "  Kid,  there  's  good  killin's 
an'  bad  killin's,  an'  I  reckon  this  'ud  be  a  good  killin', 
maybe.  But  this  ain't  your  job." 

"Why  — why  ain't  it?" 

"  Well,  you  got  a  sister  f'r  one  thing,  an'  besides,  you 
ain't  a  killer." 

'*  You  gimme  that  gun  an'  see !  "  cried  the  lad,  reaching 
out  a  hand  tremulous  and  eager. 

"  When  the  time  came,  Kid,  'stead  o'  shootin',  you  'd 
drop  your  gun  like  that  time  in  th'  wood." 


Soapy  in  a  New  Role         315 

"  Th'  wood !  "  Spike's  voice  dropped  to  a  strangled 
whisper  and  he  shrank  back  against  the  fence.  "  You  — 
my  God,  you  —  saw  — !  " 

"  'S  right,  Kid,  I  was  there !  An'  I  'm  kind  o'  glad  y* 
could  n't  do  it,  glad  for  your  sister's  sake.  But  what 
I  'm  thinkin'  is  that  maybe  she  thinks  it  was  you  —  eh, 
Kid?  " 

Spike  writhed  and  groaned. 

"Eh,  Kid?" 

"Yes!" 

"  Why,  then,  if  I  was  you,  I  'd  skin  off  right  now  an* 
put  her  wise;  it  may  mean  a  whole  lot  t'  her.  Y'  know 
where  she  is  —  go  an'  tell  her,  Kid." 

"  I  can't !  I  can't  —  she  don't  want  me  no  more,  she  's 
done  wi'  me,  I  guess.  I  'm  —  oh,  I  'm  too  low-down  an' 
rotten !  " 

"  Sure !  "  nodded  Soapy.  "  But  she  's  good,  an'  she  's 
a  woman;  an'  good  women  are  only  made  t'  forgive,  I 
reckon." 

"  But  there  's  Geoff!    I  —  I  could  n't  face  Geoff." 

"  That 's  because  you  think  a  heap  too  much  about  a 
low-down  rotten  guy  called  Spike.  I  guess  it 's  about 
time  you  began  t'  think  about  your  sister  f  a  change. 
Well,  s'  long,  Kid,  I  guess  I  '11  be  movin' ;  this  pail  comes 
a  bit  sharp  after  an  hour  of  it." 

So  saying,  Soapy  rose,  nodded,  and  strolled  away,  still 
twirling  the  revolver  upon  that  long  and  dexterous  finger. 
For  a  moment  Spike  stood  looking  after  him,  then,  chin 
on  breast,  turned  and  went  his  solitary  way  across  the 
desolate  waste.  But  now  it  was  Soapy  who,  pausing, 
turned  to  watch  him  safe  out  of  sight.  Scarcely  had  the 
sound  of  Spike's  departure  died  away  than  a  door  opened 
and  closed  hard  by,  and  heavy  steps  approached,  halted 
suddenly,  and  a  hoarse  voice  demanded: 

"Who's  there?" 

"  Why,  this  is  me,  Bud." 

"  What  th'  hell  are  ye  hangin'  around  out  here  for?  " 
questioned  M'Ginnis  suspiciously. 


316          The  Definite  Object 

"  Countin'  th'  stars,  Bud,  an'  doin'  th'  Providence  act 
—  *  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death  '  gag  —  " 

"  Aw,  cut  out  that  slush  an'  hike  along  t'  Rayner's  wi* 
me ;  I  got  a  j  ob  for  you  an'  Heine  —  " 

Side  by  side  they  crossed  the  gloomy,  open  lot  until  they 
were  come  beneath  a  lamp  at  a  certain  bleak  street  corner. 
Here  Soapy  paused  and  held  out  his  hand,  open  to  the 
light. 

"  This  don't  happen  t'  be  your  ring,  Bud?  "  he  enquired 
lazily. 

M'Ginnis  glanced  at  the  ring  upon  that  narrow  palm,  a 
ring  wrought  into  the  semblance  of  two  hands  that 
clasped  each  other,  looked  closer,  drew  in  his  breath  sud 
denly,  then  straightened  his  shoulders  and  threw  back  his 
head. 

"  No !  "  he  answered,  frowning  into  Soapy's  imperturb 
able  face,  "  what  th'  hell  made  you  think  it  was  ?  " 

"  Why,  ye  see,  Bud,  it  happens  t'  have  your  name 
scratched  inside  it,  that 's  all.  But  if  it  ain't  yours,  it 
ain't !  "  And  speaking,  Soapy  tossed  the  ring  back  over 
his  shoulder  far  out  into  the  open  lot. 

For  a  long  moment  M'Ginnis  stood  motionless,  staring 
back  at  that  desolate  plot  of  ground;  when  at  last  he 
glanced  toward  his  companion,  Soapy  was  lighting  a  fresh 
cigarette. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX 

THE    OLD    UN    ADVISES    AND    RAVENSLEE    ACTS 

lir  the  rose  garden  was  an  arbour  smothered  in  riotous 
bloom,  and  in  the  arbour  was  a  divan,  wide  and  low  and 
voluptuously  soft,  meet  for  the  repose  of  an  invalid  on  a 
languorous  afternoon,  or  indeed  any  other  time.  But  just 
now  the  invalid  reposed  not  at  all  but  sat,  elbow  on  knee 
and  square  chin  on  fist,  very  lonely  and  therefore  very 
grim. 

All  about  him  roses  bloomed,  filling  the  air  with  their 
sweetness,  but  he  had  no  eyes  for  their  beauty;  upon 
the  table  within  reach  of  his  hand  were  books  and  maga 
zines,  but  he  was  in  no  mood  for  reading;  clasped  between 
strong  white  teeth  he  held  his  favourite  pipe  unlighted 
and  cold,  for  tobacco  had  for  him  no  savour.  So  he  sat 
and  scowled  at  the  universe  in  general,  and  in  particular 
at  a  robin  that  had  boldly  ventured  near  and  was  regard 
ing  him  with  a  very  round,  bright  eye. 

"  She  's  avoiding  me !  "  said  Ravenslee  bitterly,  teeth 
clenched  upon  his  pipestem,  "  there  's  no  doubt  about  it, 
damn  it ;  she  's  avoiding  me !  And  she  's  not  happy  here 
either !  " 

The  robin  turned  his  head  to  regard  the  speaker  with 
his  other  eye,  then  fluttered  his  wings  and  flew  away  as 
the  lazy  quiet  of  the  afternoon  was  broken  by  the  squeak 
of  shoe  leather,  and  glancing  up,  Ravenslee  beheld  the 
Old  Un. 

"  What  cheer,  Guv,"  said  he,  "  greetin's  doo  and  how  's 
the  invalid?" 

"  Invalid !  "  repeated  Ravenslee,  scowling  again,  "  I  'm 
no  invalid !  " 


3  1 8  The  Definite  Object 

"  Spoke  like  a  true-bred  gamecock,  s'  help  me ! " 

"  I  'm  as  right  as  rain  physically,  Old  Un,  but  —  " 

"  Talkin'  o'  physic,  Guv,"  said  the  old  man,  seating 
himself  and  nodding  brightly,  "  talkin'  o'  physic,  the 
physic  as  set  you  on  your  pins  again  was  love,  Guv,  love !  " 

"  But  it  so  happens  —  " 

"  Wait  a  bit,  I  ain't  done,  Guv !  'Ere  's  me,  a  old  cove 
as  'as  lived  'ears  an'  'ears  an'  'ears  an'  'ears  longer  'n  you, 
so  nacherally  I  'm  a  powerful  lot  fuller  o'  th'  wisdom  o'  life 
than  you,  specially  in  matters  o'  th'  'eart,  Guv.  Now  me, 
'avin'  'elped  you  into  th'  matrimonial  ring,  as  you  might 
say,  'ave  took  your  'appiness  under  my  wing,  an',  Guv,  I 
don't  like  the  way  you  're  shapin'  —  " 

"  But  you  see  —  " 

"  'Old  'ard,  Guv,  let  a  pore  old  cove  get  a  word  in  for 
a  change.  Now  there 's  you  an'  'er,  your  fair  young 
spouse,  both  up  to  each  other's  weight,  sound  in  wind  an' 
limb  an'  meant  for  j'y  —  what  I  want  is  t'  see  you  come  to 
a  clinch!  This  ain't  no  time  for  sparrin'  an'  out-fightin' 
—  yet  'ere  you  are  a-feintin'  at  each  other  from  opposite 
corners  —  " 

"  But  —  " 

"  'Arf  a  mo',  Guv,  'arf  a  mo'  —  gimme  a  chance  for  a 
occasional  word !  An'  don't  frown,  Guv,  don't  frown  at  a 
pore  old  cove;  y'  see,  there  's  jest  three  blokes  in  this  'ard 
world  as  my  old  'eart  warms  to,  an'  one  on  'em  's  Joe,  an' 
t'  other  un  's  you,  an'  t'  other  un  's  'er  —  which  ain't  a 
bloke.  Lord,  Guv,  what  a  soft  armful  o'  beauty!  'Ow 
warm  an'  cuddlesome !  Oh,  Guv,  what  a  waist !  What  lips  ! 
What  —  " 

"  Old  Un,  for  heaven's  sake,  shut  up !  D'  you  think 
I  'm  blind  ?  D'  you  think  —  " 

"  Guv,  I  dunno  wot  t'  think !  'Ere  's  you  with  your  'ead 
in  your  'ands,  an'  there  's  'er  sighin'  an'  sighin'  —  " 

"Sighing?     Where?     When?     Why  —  " 

"  Sighin'  an'  sighin',  Guv,  so  soft  an'  pretty  —  I  'card 
'er !  Also  she  wep'  —  I  seen  'er." 

"  Where?  " 


The  Old  Un  Advises  319 

"  An'  'er  tears,  Guv,  them  pearly  tears  went  t'  my 
'eart  —  an'  nobody  t'  put  a  arm  round  that  waist,  nor 
kiss  them  sweet  lips,  nor  soothe  them  tears  away  — 

'  Oh,  alone  she  sat  sighin'  by  a  green  wilier  tree, 
With  'er  'and  on  'er  bosom,  'er  'ead  on  'er  knee, 
Weepin'  wilier,  wilier,  wilier  my  garlan'  shall  be.' 

So,  Guv,  I  ax  you,  man  to  man,  why,  oh,  why  are  ye 
neglectin'  your  fair  young  spouse?  An',  Guv,  I  only  ax 
because  your  'appiness  an'  'ers  is  mine  —  s'  'elp  me !  " 

"  How  if  it 's  the  other  way  about,  Old  Un  ?  Suppose 
she  avoids  me?  " 

"  Why  lumme,  Guv !  'T  is  a  sure  sign  she  needs  per- 
soot.  Remember  this  : 

'  'Im  as  would  lovely  woman  woo 
'E  lovely  woman  must  persoo, 
For  if  'e  don't,  't  is  plain  as  plain 
That  feller  'e  will  woo  in  vain.' 

An',  Guv,  I  've  only  took  th'  liberty  o'  sayin'  this  because 
my  pore  old  bowels  yearns  to  ye  —  both  on  ye.  Per- 
soot  's  the  word,  Guv,  per-soot !  " 

The  Old  Un  nodded,  rose,  and  creaked  away,  and  Ra- 
venslee,  looking  after  him,  scowled  no  longer,  but  rising, 
sauntered  across  the  trim  garden  to  where  there  was  a 
lily  pool  and,  leaning  over  the  marble  rim,  stared  down  into 
the  placid  water. 

Now  as  the  Old  Un  went  his  way,  there  met  him  a 
little  girl,  very  neat  and  tidy,  who  sang  to  herself  in  a 
small  happy  voice  and  tapped  along  on  a  crutch;  but 
beholding  the  Old  Un,  his  dazzling  shoes,  his  rakish  hat, 
she  stood  silent  all  at  once,  glancing  up  wistfully  into  that 
fierce,  battered  old  face. 

"  Lumme  —  crutches  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  No,  please  —  only  one,  sir !  "  she  answered,  dropping 
him  a  little,  old-fashioned  curtsey. 

"  Crikey !  "  said  he,  staring,  "  so  young,  so  tender,  an* 
—  a  game  leg !  A  little  angel  wi'  a  broke  wing  —  lumme !  " 

So  Age  and  Youth  stared  at  each  other  and  she,  being 


320  The  Definite  Object 

a  child,  was  quick  to  heed  that  the  eyes  so  bright  beneath 
their  hoary  brows  were  kindly  eyes,  and  the  smile  upon 
the  grim  old  mouth  was  very  reassuring,  wherefore  she 
smiled  also. 

"  Only  one  crutch,  sir,"  she  repeated.  "  An'  the  doctor 
says  as  I  won't  want  it  much  longer,  sir."  Here,  dropping 
another  curtsey,  she  held  up  for  his  acceptance  a  bunch 
of  wild  flowers. 

"  What  —  P  me,  little  maid?  "  he  enquired. 

"  Yes,  please,  sir." 

"  Why  bless  —  bless  your  lovin'  little  'eart !  "  quavered 
the  old  man,  and  stooped  to  touch  her  rosy  cheek  with  a 
hand  gnarled  and  scarred  with  much  hard  punching,  yet  a 
very  gentle  hand  indeed.  "  God  bless  that  little  game  leg, 
but  pretty  flowers  'ud  be  wasted  on  a  old  bloke  like  me. 
You  take  'em  to  th'  Guv,  see  —  over  there  —  that  tall 
chap  leanin'  over  th'  pool.  But  first  gimme  a  —  a  kiss 
instead,  will  ye,  little  lass?" 

"  I  'd  like  to,  sir.  " 

And  when  the  Old  Un  had  kissed  and  been  kissed  right 
heartily,  he  pointed  to  Ravenslee's  distant,  lounging  figure, 
winked,  nodded,  and  squeaked  away. 

Thus  it  was  that  Ravenslee,  absorbed  in  thought,  was 
presently  roused  by  the  quick  light  tapping  of  the  little 
crutch  and  glanced  up. 

"  Oh ! "  she  cried  softly ;  the  flowers  fell  and  lay 
neglected  as,  clasping  her  hands,  she  stared  up  at  him  in 
radiant-eyed  wonder. 

"  Welcome,  Highness !  "  said  he  and  bowed. 

"  Oh,  it 's  the  Prince  —  my  dear  Prince !  Oh,  Goody !  " 
and  she  hastened  toward  him,  then  stopped  all  at  once, 
puzzled  and  abashed  because  of  his  elegant  attire.  Per 
ceiving  which  he  reached  out  and  drew  her  down  by  him 
on  the  marble  seat  beside  the  pool. 

"  Why  this  sudden  change  of  demeanour,  Princess  ?  " 
he  enquired.  "  What 's  the  matter?  " 

"  You  're  —  you  're  so  different,  sir  —  so  different  an* 
grand  in  all  them  cute  clo'es,  sir." 


The  Old  Un  Advises          321 

"  Am  I,  dear  ?  But  I  'm  j  ust  the  same  inside,  you 
know.  And,  for  heaven's  sake,  Princess,  do  not  call  me 
«  sir.'  " 

"  But  the  big  gentleman  that  belongs  here  an'  has  all 
these  lovely  flowers  an'  everything  —  he  says  as  I  must 
always  say  '  sir.' ' 

"  Big  gentleman?  " 

"  Yes,  the  big,  soft  gentleman  with  the  cute  little  curls 
on  his  cheeks." 

"  Oh  —  him !  "  said  Ravenslee,  laughing  suddenly. 
"  Indeed  a  very  just  description,  Princess.  But  you  don't 
have  to  worry  about  him  any  more ;  he  's  gone." 

"Gone?    For  good?" 

"  For  very  good  indeed !  " 

"  Does  n't  all  this  beautiful,  beautiful  place  belong  t' 
him  any  more?  " 

"  Never  any  more." 

"  Have  you  come  here  'stead  of  him?    Come  t'  stay?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  An'  can  I  pick  a  rose  t'  kiss  sometimes  ?  " 

"  As  many  as  you  like." 

"  Oh !  "  sighed  the  child  rapturously,  nestling  within  his 
arm,  "isn't  that  just  —  fine!  I  guess  this  sure  is  the 
Beautiful  City  of  Perhaps,  after  all !  " 

"  I  wonder?  " 

"  Oh,  but  I  'm  sure  it  is  —  now  th'  gentleman  's  gone 
I  just  know  it  is!  " 

"  What  makes  you  so  sure?  " 

"  Everything !  'Cause  you  see,  Prince,  my  daddy  don't 
have  t'  be  away  all  day  any  more.  An'  mumsey  don't 
have  t'  sew  late,  nights,  any  more.  An'  when  we  came 
into  the  cute  little  house  where  we  live  —  there  was  the  doll 
that  says  '  mamma  '  jest  waitin'  f  me.  An'  there  was  a 
big  box  o'  candies,  an'  a  doll  carriage  with  real  rubber  on 
th'  wheels  —  jest  like  we  used  to  talk  about.  So  you  see 
this  must  be  Perhaps  at  last,  an'  I  'm  so  —  so  happy  — 
only  —  "  Hazel  sighed. 

"Only  what?" 


322  The  Definite  Object 

"  I  do  wish  Hermy  could  find  her  way  here  too ;  she 
used  t'  be  so  tired  sometimes." 

"  You  mean  that  you  would  like  to  find  Princess  Nobody, 
I  guess." 

"  Oh,  but  I  can't !  I  used  to  look  an'  look  for  her  every 
day  'til  th'  gentleman  said  she  was  n't  here,  an'  told  me 
never  t'  come  near  th'  big  house  any  more." 

"  But  he  's  gone,  and  you  never  had  me  to  help  you." 

"  Oh,  will  you  —  will  you  help  me  right  now  ?  "  she 
pleaded. 

"  Surest  thing  you  know ! "  he  nodded,  "  your  hand, 
Princess." 

So  hand  in  hand  he  led  her,  suiting  his  long  legs  to 
hers,  along  shady  walks,  up  terrace  steps,  across  smooth 
lawns,  and  so  to  the  great  house.  Hazel  paused  to  ques 
tion  him  further  concerning  "  the  gentleman  ",  but  Ra- 
venslee  laughed  and,  seating  her  upon  his  shoulder,  bore 
her  into  the  house. 

In  her  housekeeper's  room,  surrounded  by  many  dusty 
bill  files  and  stacks  of  account  books,  they  presently  found 
Mrs.  Trapes,  whose  hawk's-eye  viewed  bills  and  trades 
men's  books  while  she  frowned  and  muttered  such  com 
ments  as  "Rogues!"  "Thieves!"  "  Scand'lous !  " 
"  Wicked ! "  Until  glancing  up,  her  sharp  features 
softened,  and  she  smiled  up  into  the  child's  happy  face. 

"  So  Hazel 's  found  ye,  has  she,  Mr.  Geoffrey.  An' 
talkin'  o'  her,  you  've  sure  made  the  Bowkers  a  happy 
fam'ly.  But,  my  land,  Mr.  Ravenslee,  the  scand'lous 
prices  as  th'  tradespeople  has  been  allowed  t'  charge  you 
these  last  six  months !  Here  's  th'  butcher  —  listen  t' 
this  —  " 

"  Heaven  forbid,  Mrs.  Trapes !  Rather  let  that  butcher 
listen  to  you,  miserable  wretch !  " 

"  An'  there  's  the  milkman  —  that  milkman's  cows  ought 
t'  blush  at  th'  sound  o'  your  name !  Here  's  his  accounts 
for  the  last  six  months,  an'  I  've  found  —  " 

"  Have  you,  Mrs.  Trapes  ?  We  're  trying  to  find  Her- 
mione  —  where  is  she  ?  " 


The  Old  Un  Advises          323 

"  Oh,  she  's  in  her  room  —  laying  down,  I  guess." 

"  Not,"  enquired  Ravenslee,  "  not  —  er  —  in  bed,  is 
she?  " 

"  Mr.  Geoffrey,  I  don't  know ;  I  'm  busy.  Go  an'  see  for 
yourself  —  she  's  your  wife,  ain't  she?  " 

"  Why,  since  you  ask,  I  —  er  —  hardly  know,"  he  an 
swered  a  little  ruefully,  "  anyway,  found  she  shall  be." 

With  the  child  perched  upon  his  shoulder  he  strode 
up-stairs  and  along  wide  corridors  whose  deep  carpets 
gave  forth  no  sound,  and  so  reached  a  certain  door. 
Here  he  hesitated  a  moment,  then  knocked  with  imperious 
hand. 

"  Come  in !  "  called  that  voice  whose  soft  inflection  had 
always  thrilled  him,  but  never  as  it  did  now  as,  turning  the 
handle,  he  entered  his  wife's  chamber. 

Hermione  was  standing  before  a  long  mirror,  and  she 
neither  turned  nor  looked  from  the  radiant  vision  it  re 
flected  ;  her  eyes,  her  attention,  all  the  feminine  soul  of  her 
being  just  then  fixed  and  centered  upon  the  tea  gown  she 
was  trying  on ;  such  a  garment  as  she  had  gloated  over  in 
the  store  windows,  yearned  for,  but  never  thought  to 
possess. 

"  Ann,"  she  sighed,  "  oh,  Ann,  is  n't  it  exquisite !  Is  n't 
it  a  perfect  dream !  Of  course  it  needs  a  wee  bit  of  altera 
tion  here  and  there,  but  I  can  do  that.  Is  n't  it  good  of 
him  to  have  bought  it  without  saying  a  word !  And  there 
are  heaps  of  dresses  and  robes  and  —  and  everything !  A 
complete  trousseau,  Ann,  dear  —  think  of  it!  I  wonder 
how  he  knew  my  size  —  " 

"  Oh,  I  just  guessed  it,  my  dear,"  answered  Ravenslee 
in  the  voice  of  a  much  experienced  husband. 

Hermione  gasped,  and  turning,  stared  at  him  wide-eyed, 
seeing  only  him,  conscious  only  of  him.  Lifting  Hazel  to 
the  floor,  he  seated  himself  upon  her  bed  and,  crossing 
his  legs,  eyed  her  flushed  loveliness  with  a  matter-of-fact 
air.  "  Really,"  he  continued,  "  I  don't  see  that  it  needs 
any  alteration;  perhaps  the  sleeves  might  be  a  trifle 
shorter  —  show  a  little  more  arm.  But  those  flounces  and 


324  The  Definite  Object 

things  are  perfect!  I  hope  all  the  other  things  fit  as 
well?  " 

Hermione  flushed  deeper  still  and  caught  her  breath. 

"  Oh,  Hermy,"  said  a  soft,  pleading  little  voice,  "  won't 
you  see  me,  please?  " 

Hermione  started,  her  long  lashes  drooped  suddenly, 
and  then  —  then,  forgetful  of  costly  lace,  of  dainty  ruffles 
and  ribbons,  she  was  on  her  knees  and  had  the  child  close 
in  her  arms.  And  beholding  the  clasp  of  those  round, 
white  arms,  the  lovely,  down-bent  head,  and  all  the  tender, 
craving,  inborn  motherhood  of  her,  Ravenslee  held  his 
breath,  and  into  his  eyes  came  a  light  of  reverent 
adoration. 

Presently  he  rose  and  left  them  together,  but  as  he 
went,  the  light  was  in  his  eyes  still. 


CONCERNING    A    HANDFUL    OF    PEBBLES 

"  AND  so,"  said  Hermione,  as  she  waved  good-by  to  Hazel, 
who  stood  in  the  cottage  doorway  with  Mrs.  Bowker  — 
a  Mrs.  Bowker  no  longer  faded,  "  you  did  n't  forget  even 
the  doll  that  says  '  Mamma  '?  " 

"  It  was  such  a  little  thing!  "  he  answered. 

"  What  a  —  man  you  are !  "  she  said  softly. 

"  Just  that,  Hermione,"  he  answered,  "  and  —  fright 
fully  human !  "  She  was  silent.  "  Do  you  know  what  I 
mean?  "  he  demanded,  glancing  at  her  averted  face. 

"  Yes !  "  she  answered,  without  looking  around.  So 
they  walked  for  awhile  in  silence.  Suddenly  he  seized  her 
hand  and  drew  it  through  his  arm. 

"  Hermione,"  he  said  gently,  "  I  want  my  wife." 

She  still  kept  her  head  averted,  but  he  could  feel  how 
she  was  trembling. 

"  And  you  think  —  "  she  began  softly. 

"  That  I  have  been  patient  long  enough.  I  have  waited 
and  hoped  because  —  " 

"  Because  you  are  so  generous,  so  kind  —  such  a  man !  " 
she  said  softly  and  with  head  still  averted. 

"  And  yet  since  I  have  been  well  again,  you  have  kept 
me  at  arm's  length.  Dear,  you  —  love  me  still,  don't 
you?" 

"Love  you?"  she  repeated,  "love  you?"  For  a  mo 
ment  she  turned  and  looked  up  at  him  then  drew  her  arm 
from  his  and  walked  on  with  head  averted  once  more.  So 
they  entered  the  rose  garden  and  coming  to  the  lily  pool 
leaned  there  side  by  side. 


326  The  Definite  Object 

"  Hermione,"  said  he,  staring  down  into  the  water,  "  if 
you  really  love  me,  why  do  you  hate  to  kiss  me?  Why  do 
you  hardly  suffer  me  to  touch  you  ?  And  you  've  never 
even  called  me  by  my  name,  that  I  remember !  " 

"  Geoffrey !  "  she  breathed ;  "  and  I  —  love  you  to  touch 
me!  And  I  don't  hate  to  kiss  you,  Geoffrey  dear." 

"  Then  why  do  you  keep  me  at  arm's  length  ?  " 

"  Do  I  ?  "  she  questioned  softly,  gazing  down  at  the  lily 
pads. 

"  You  know  you  do.    Why  ?  " 

"  Well  —  because." 

"  Because  what  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  well,  just  —  because." 

"  Hermione  —  tell  me." 

"  Well,  everything  is  so  strange  —  so  unreal !  This 
great  house,  the  servants,  all  the  beautiful  clothes  you 
bought  me!  To  have  so  very  much  of  everything  after 
having  to  do  with  so  very  little  —  it 's  all  so  wonderful 
and  —  dreadful !  " 

"Dreadful?" 

"  You  are  so  —  dreadfully  rich !  " 

"Is  that  the  reason  you  keep  me  at  such  a  distance? 
Is  that  why  you  avoid  me?" 

"Avoid  you?" 

"  Yes,  dear.  You  've  done  it  very  sweetly  and  deli 
cately,  but  you  have  avoided  me  lately.  Why?  " 

Hermione  did  n't  answer. 

"  And  you  have  n't  touched  any  of  the  monthly  allow 
ance  I  make  you,"  he  went  on,  frowning  a  little,  "  not  one 
cent.  Why,  Hermione?  " 

Hermione  was  silent. 

"Tell  me!" 

Still  she  was  silent,  only  she  bent  lower  above  the  pool 
and  drew  further  from  him,  whereat  his  pale  cheek  flushed, 
and  his  frown  grew  blacker. 

And  presently,  as  he  scowled  down  into  the  water,  she 
stole  a  look  at  him,  and  when  she  spoke,  though  the  words 
were  light,  the  quiver  in  her  voice  belied  them. 


A  Handful  of  Pebbles          327 

"  Invalid,  dear,  if  you  want  to  be  angry  with  me,  wait 
—  till  you  're  a  little  stronger." 

Ravenslee  stooped  and  picked  up  a  handful  of  small 
pebbles  that  chanced  to  lie  loose. 

"  Wife,  dear,"  said  he,  "  I  'm  as  well  and  strong  as  ever 
I  was.  But  I  've  asked  you  several  questions  which  I 
mean  you  to  answer,  so  I  am  going  to  give  you  until  I 
have  pitched  all  these  pebbles  into  the  water,  and  then  —  " 
Hermione  glanced  up  swiftly. 

"  Then  ?  "  she  questioned. 

"  Why  then,  if  you  have  n't  answered,  I  shall  —  take 
matters  into  my  own  hands.  One !  "  and  a  pebble  splashed 
into  the  pool. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know?  " 

"  Two !  Why  have  n't  you  condescended  to  take  your 
allowance?  " 

"  Dear,  I  —  I  did  n't  need  it,  and  even  if  I  had,  I  —  oh, 
I  could  n't  take  it  —  yet !  " 

"Three!    Why  not?  " 

"  Because  you  have  given  me  so  much  already,  and  I  — 
have  given  you — nothing." 

"  Four !    Why  —  have  n't  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  —  well  —  because !  " 

"  Five!    What  does  'because  '  mean,  this  time?  " 

"  It  means  —  just  —  because !  " 

"  Six !  Seven !  Eight !  Why  have  you  avoided  me 
lately?" 

Hermione  was  silent,  watching  him  with  troubled  eyes 
while  he  slowly  pitched  the  pebbles  into  the  pool,  count 
ing  as  they  fell. 

"  Nine !  Ten !  Eleven !  Twelve !  Why  do  you  keep 
me  at  arm's  length?  " 

"  I  don't  —  I  —  I  —  you  won't  let  me  —  "  she  said  a 
little  breathlessly,  while  one  by  one  he  let  the  pebbles  fall 
into  the  pool,  counting  inexorably  as  they  fell. 

"  Thirteen !  Fourteen,  fifteen  —  and  that 's  the  last !  " 
As  he  spoke  he  turned  toward  her,  and  she,  reading  some 
thing  of  his  purpose  in  his  eyes,  turned  to  flee,  felt  his 


328  The  Definite  Object 

long  arms  about  her,  felt  herself  swung  up  and  up  and  so 
lay  crushed  and  submissive  in  his  fierce  embrace  as  he 
turned  and  began  to  bear  her  across  the  garden.  Then, 
being  helpless,  she  began  to  plead  with  him. 

"  Ah,  don't,  don't  —  dear !  Geoffrey !  Put  me  tlown ! 
Where  are  you  taking  me?  If  any  one  sees  us —  " 

"  Let  them !  "  he  muttered  grimly ;  "  you  're  my  wife ! " 

So  he  bore  her  across  the  garden  into  the  arbour  and 
laying  her  upon  the  divan,  sank  beside  it  on  his  knees, 
panting  a  little. 

"  A  little  weak  —  still !  "  said  he,  "  but  not  so  bad  — 
you  're  no  scraggy  sylph,  thank  heaven !  Hermione  — 
look  at  me!"  But  she  turned  and  hid  her  face  against 
him,  for  his  clasp  was  close  about  her  still.  So  he  stooped 
and  kissed  her  hair,  her  glowing  cheek,  her  soft  white  neck, 
and,  in  that  instant  —  wonder  of  wonders  —  her  arms 
were  around  him,  strong,  passionate  arms  that  clung  and 
drew  him  close  —  then  strove  wildly  to  hold  him  away. 

"  Loose  me !  "  she  cried,  "  let  me  go  !  Geoffrey  —  hus 
band,  be  generous  and  let  me  go  !  "  But  he  lifted  her  head, 
back  and  back  across  his  arm  until  beneath  her  long  lashes 
her  eyes  looked  into  his. 

"  Hermione,  when  will  you  —  be  my  wife  ?  " 

Against  him  he  could  feel  the  sweet  hurry  of  her  breath 
ing,  and  stooping  he  spoke  again,  lip  to  lip : 

"  Hermione,  when  will  you  be  my  wife  ?  " 

But,  even  while  he  kissed  her,  between  those  quivering, 
parted  lips  came  a  murmur  of  passionate  prayer  and 
pleading. 

"  Oh,  my  love,  wait  —  wait !  Let  me  tell  you  —  ah, 
loose  me  and  let  me  tell  you." 

Slowly  his  hold  relaxed,  and,  twisting  in  his  arms,  she 
slipped  upon  her  knees  beside  him,  and,  crouching  close, 
hid  her  face  against  him. 

"  Beloved,"  she  whispered  quickly,  breathlessly,  "  oh, 
dear  man  that  I  love  so  —  there  is  something  between  us, 
a  shadow  of  shame  and  horror  that  is  with  me  day  and 
night  and  always  must  be.  While  you  lay  sick  it  was 


A  Handful  of  Pebbles         329 

there,  torturing  me  with  every  moan  and  sigh  you  uttered. 
It  is  with  me  wherever  I  go  —  it  is  between  us  now  —  yes, 
now  —  even  while  I  strain  you  in  my  arms  like  this.  I 
have  watched  you  grow  strong  and  well  again,  I  've  seen 
the  love  in  your  eyes,  and  I  've  yearned  to  be  to  you  — 
all  you  would  have  me,  but  because  of  this  shadow  I  — 
dare  not.  Ah,  God,  how  can  I  be  wife  to  you  when  —  let 
this  answer  for  me."  And  she  placed  in  Ravenslee's  hand 
a  coat  button  whereto  a  piece  of  cloth  adhered.  "  Dear 
love,  I  saw  you  throw  it  away,"  she  explained,  "  and  I 
searched  and  searched  until  I  found  it." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  knew  you  would  soon  ask  me  —  this  ques 
tion,  and  I  have  kept  it  for  my  answer.  Ah,  God!  how 
can  I  be  wife  to  you  when  my  brother  would  have  killed 
you  —  murdered  you !  " 

Ravenslee  hurled  the  button  far  away,  then  lifting  Her- 
mione's  bowed  head,  spoke  very  tenderly. 

"  How  does  all  this  affect  our  love,  Hermione,  except 
to  show  me  you  are  even  sweeter  and  nobler  than  I  had 
thought.  And  as  for  the  shadow,  it  is  —  only  a  shadow 
after  all." 

"  But  it  is  my  shame !  "  she  answered.  "  You  might 
have  had  for  wife  the  sister  of  a  thief,  but  not  —  oh,  God ! 
not  the  sister  of  a  would-be  murderer.  If —  if  I  came  to 
you  now,  I  should  come  in  shame  —  Ah,  Geoffrey,  don't 
—  shame  me !  " 

"  God  forbid !  "  he  muttered. 

Close,  close  she  clasped  him,  hiding  her  face  against 
him,  kissing  and  kissing  the  rough  cloth  of  his  coat. 

"  Oh,  Geoffrey,"  she  murmured,  "  how  we  do  love  each 
other !  " 

"  So  much,  Hermione,  that  I  will  never  —  claim  you 
until  you  are  ready  to  come  to  me  of  your  own  will.  But, 
dear,  I  am  only  a  man  —  how  long  must  I  wait  ?  " 

"  Give  me  time,"  she  pleaded,  "  with  time  the  horror 
may  grow  less.  Let  me  go  away  for  awhile  —  a  little 
while.  Let  me  find  Arthur  —  " 


330  The  Definite  Object 

"  No,"  he  answered,  frowning,  "  you  shan't  do  that ; 
there  will  be  no  need  —  to-morrow  I  go  to  fetch  him." 

"  To  bring  him  —  here?  " 

"  Why,  of  course.  You  see,  I  intend  him  to  go  to 
college." 

Hermione  rose  and  coming  to  the  entrance  of  the  arbour 
leaned  there. 

"  Why,  Hermione  —  dear  love  —  you  're  crying !  What 
is  it?" 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered,  bowing  her  face  upon  her 
arm,  "  only  —  I  think  —  if  you  ask  me  again  —  I  can't 
—  keep  you  —  waiting  —  very  long !  " 


CHAPTER    XLI 

OF  A  PACKET  OF  LETTERS 

M'GiNNis  jerked  aside  the  roll-top  desk  and  falling  on  his 
knees  before  a  small  but  massive  safe  built  into  the  wall 
behind,  set  the  combination  and  swung  open  the  heavy 
door,  talking  to  his  companion  as  he  did  so  and  quite  un 
conscious  of  the  pale  face  that  watched  him  through  the 
dingy  window. 

"  That  dam'  Soapy  's  gettin'  ugly,"  he  was  saying,  "  an' 
it  don't  do  t'  get  ugly  with  me,  Heine,  boy !  Soapy  thinks 
he  's  smart  Alec  all  right,  but  I  guess  I  'm  some  smarter. 
Why,  I  got  evidence  enough  in  here  t'  'lectrocute  a  dozen 
Soapys." 

"  So?  "  said  Heine,  chewing  on  his  cigar  and  peering 
into  the  safe.  "  Say,  what 's  all  them  tied  up  in  sassy 
blue  ribbon,  Bud?  " 

"  These?  "  said  M'Ginnis,  and  he  took  out  a  bundle  of 
letters,  turning  them  over  in  his  big  hands. 

"Skirt  — hey,  Bud?" 

"  Sure  thing !  "  he  nodded,  and  as  he  stared  down  at  this 
packet,  how  should  he  know  how  tense  and  rigid  had  be 
come  the  lounging  form  in  the  darkness  beyond  the  win 
dow,  or  guess  of  the  wide  glare  of  watchful  eyes  or  of  the 
sudden  quiver  of  a  smouldering  cigarette? 

"  Yes,  a  girl's  letters,  Heine !  An'  a  hell  of  a  lot  of 
'em.  I  dunno  why  I  keep  'em,  but  —  oh,  hell !  "  So  saying 
he  tossed  the  letters  back  again  and  turned  to  his  com 
panion.  "  Hand  over  that  dope !  "  he  commanded,  and 
Heine  passed  over  a  bundle  of  papers  which  M'Ginnis 
carefully  slipped  into  a  certain  compartment.  As  he  did 
so,  Heine  spun  around  upon  his  heel. 


332  The  Definite  Object 

"  Gee  whiz !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  you  shook  me  that  time, 
Soapy !  Where  've  you  blown  in  from  —  " 

"  An'  what  th'  hell  are  you  nosin'  around  here  for,  any 
way?  "  snarled  M'Ginnis,  shutting  the  heavy  safe  with  a 
fierce  slam ;  "  since  you  've  come  in  you  can  get  out  again 
—  right  now !  " 

Soapy  seated  himself  upon  a  corner  of  the  desk  and 
placidly  breathed  out  two  spirals  of  cigarette  smoke. 

"Heard  about  Hermy  bein'  married,  Bud?"  he 
enquired. 

"Married?  You're  a  liar!  Hermy  married?  It's 
not  so !  " 

"  'S  right !  "  nodded  Soapy.  "  She  's  married  th'  mil 
lionaire  guy  as  got  shot  —  you  know  —  got  shot  in  that 
wood  —  you  '11  remember,  Bud !  " 

M'Ginnis  sank  into  a  chair  and  fell  to  biting  his  nails, 
staring  blindly  before  him. 

"  Is  —  this  —  straight  goods  ?  "  he  enquired  thickly, 
without  altering  his  gaze. 

"  Sure !  Y'  see,  she  nursed  him  through  his  sickness, 
Bud  —  kind  of  did  the  piller-smoothin'  an'  brow-strokin' 
act.  Oh,  I  guess  she  comforted  him  quite  some." 

M'Ginnis  stared  before  him,  worrying  his  nails  with 
sharp  white  teeth. 

"  Ravenslee  's  a  well  man  again,  I  hear,  an'  they  're 
honeymoonin'  at  his  place  on  the  Hudson  —  devotion  ain't 
the  word,  Bud !  'S  funny,"  said  Soapy,  "  but  th'  bullet 
as  downed  this  guy  drove  Hermy  into  his  arms.  'S  funny, 
ain't  it,  Bud?  " 

With  a  hoarse,  inarticulate  cry  that  was  scarcely 
human,  M'Ginnis  sprang  from  his  chair,  his  quivering  fists 
upflung.  For  a  moment  he  stood  thus,  striving  vainly  for 
utterance,  then  wrenched  loose  his  neckerchief,  while  Soapy 
methodically  lighted  a  new  cigarette  from  the  butt  of  its 
predecessor. 

"  Easy,  Bud,  easy ! "  he  remonstrated  gently,  when 
M'Ginnis's  torrent  of  frenzied  threats  and  curses  had  died 
down  somewhat.  "  If  you  go  on  that  way,  you  '11  go  off  — 


A  Packet  of  Letters  333 

in  a  fit  or  somethin',  an'  I  should  n't  like  t'  see  ye  die  — 
that  way !  " 

"  Up  the  river,  is  he  ?  "  panted  M'Ginnis. 

"  'S  right,  Bud,  up  the  river  in  his  big  house  —  with 
her.  I  —  " 

"Is  he,  by—" 

"  A  dandy  place  f  honeymoonin',  Bud !  " 

"  Loan  me  your  gun,  Soapy.  I  '11  get  him,  by  God !  if 
I  have  t'  shoot  him  in  her  arms  —  loan  me  y'r  gun !  " 

"  I  guess  not,  Bud,  no,  I  guess  not.  I  'd  feel  kind  o' 
lonesome  without  th'  feel  of  it.  Ask  Heine ;  he  '11  loan  you 
his ;  it 's  gettin'  t'  be  quite  a  habit  with  him,  ain't  it,  Heine?" 

M'Ginnis  sat  awhile  glaring  down  at  his  clutching  right 
hand,  then  he  rose,  opened  his  desk,  and  took  thence  a 
heavy  revolver,  and  slipped  it  inside  his  coat. 

"  You  're  comin'  with  me,  Heine,"  said  he,  "  I  '11  want 
you." 

"  Sure  thing,  Bud,"  nodded  Heine,  chewing  his  cigar. 
"  But  what  about  lettin'  Soapy  tag  along  too." 

"  Soapy,"  said  M'Ginnis,  striding  to  the  door,  "  Soapy 
can  go  t'  hell  right  now." 

"  Why  then,  Bud,"  drawled  Soapy,  "  I  '11  sure  meet  you 
—  later.  S' long." 

Left  alone,  Soapy's  languor  gave  place  to  swift  action. 
In  two  strides,  it  seemed,  he  was  in  the  saloon,  had  beck 
oned  the  quick-eyed  bartender  aside  and  put  the  question: 
"  Where  's  the  Kid,  Jake?  " 

The  bartender  lifted  an"  eyebrow  and  jerked  a  thumb 
upward. 

"  Shut-eye,"  he  nodded,  and  turned  back  to  his  multi 
farious  duties. 

Up  a  narrow  stair  sped  Soapy  and,  opening  one  of  the 
numerous  doors,  crossed  to  a  truckle  bed  wherefrom  a 
tousled  head  upreared  itself. 

"  Who  th'  —  " 

"  Say,  Kid,  are  ye  drunk  or  only  asleep  ?  " 

"What  yer  want,  Soapy?  You  lemme  be  —  what  yer 
want?  "  began  Spike  drowsily. 


334          The  Definite  Object 

"  Nothin'  much,  Kid,  only  Bud  an'  Heine  's  gone  t' 
shoot  up  y'r  sister's  husband." 

"  Husband !  "  cried  Spike,  drowsy  no  longer.  "  Hus 
band  —  say,  d'  ye  mean  Geoff?  " 

"  That 's  who,  Kid.  You  was  crackin'  on  t'  me  about 
wantin'  t'  make  good ;  well,  here  's  y'r  chance.  Bud  aims 
t'  get  there  'bout  midnight  —  up  th'  river,  you  know  — 
so  you  got  two  hours.  You  '11  have  t'  go  some  t'  get  in 
first,  but  I  guess  you  can  do  it." 

"  I  will  if  it  kills  me !  "  cried  Spike,  springing  toward 
the  door. 

"  Hold  on,  Kid,  you  '11  need  some  mazuma,  maybe. 
Here  's  a  ten-spot.  It  '11  be  more  useful  t'  you  than  me 
after  t'night,  I  reckon.  So  get  your  hooks  on  to  it,  an' 
now  —  beat  it !  " 

Without  more  words  Spike  snatched  the  money, 
crammed  it  into  his  pocket  and,  running  down  the  stairs, 
was  gone. 

Then,  after  having  lighted  another  cigarette,  Soapy 
descended  to  M'Ginnis's  dingy  office,  where  having  dragged 
away  the  desk,  he  brought  a  chair  and  sat  with  his  ear 
against  the  safe,  turning  the  combination  lock  with  long, 
delicate  fingers.  To  and  fro  he  turned  it,  very  patiently 
hearkening  to  the  soft  clicks  the  mechanism  gave  forth 
while  the  cigarette  smouldered  between  his  pallid  lips. 
Soapy,  among  other  accomplishments,  was  a  yeggman 
renowned  in  the  profession,  and  very  soon  the  heavy  door 
swung  softly  back,  and  Soapy  became  lost  in  study. 
Money  there  was  and  valuables  of  many  kinds,  and  these 
he  did  n't  trouble  with,  but  to  the  papers  he  gave  a  scrupu 
lous  attention;  sometimes  as  he  read  his  white  eyelids 
fluttered  somewhat,  and  sometimes  the  dangling  cigarette 
quivered.  Presently  he  arose  and  bore  these  many  papers 
to  the  sheet  iron  upon  which  stood  the  rusty  stove;  here 
he  piled  them  and  set  them  alight  and  stood  watching 
until  they  were  reduced  to  a  heap  of  charred  ash.  Then, 
returning  to  the  safe,  he  took  out  a  bundle  of  letters  tied 
up  in  a  faded  blue  ribbon,  and  seating  himself  at  M'Gin- 


A  Packet  of  Letters  335 

nis's  desk,  he  slipped  off  the  ribbon  and  very  methodically 
began  to  read  these  letters  one  after  the  other. 

But  as  he  read  the  humble  entreaties,  the  passionate 
pleading  of  those  written  words,  blotted  and  smeared  with 
the  bitter  tears  of  a  woman's  poignant  shame  and  anguish, 
Soapy's  pendent  cigarette  fell  to  the  floor  and  lay  there 
smouldering  and  forgotten,  and  his  lips  were  drawn  back 
from  sharp,  white  teeth  —  pallid  lips  contorted  in  a  grin 
the  more  awful  because  of  the  great  drops  that  welled 
from  the  fierce,  half-closed  eyes.  Every  letter  he  read  and 
every  word,  then  very  methodically  set  them  back  within 
the  faded  blue  ribbon  and  sat  staring  down  at  them  with 
eyes  wider  open  than  usual  —  eyes  that  saw  back  into  the 
past.  And  as  he  sat  thus,  staring  at  what  had  been,  he 
repeated  a  sentence  to  himself  over  and  over  again  at 
regular  intervals,  speaking  with  a  soft  inflection  none  had 
ever  heard  from  him  before: 

"  Poor  little  Maggie  —  poor  little  kid !  " 


CHAPTER    XLH 

TELLS   HOW    BAVENSLEE   BROKE    HIS   WOED    AND    WHY 

"  PAST  eleven  o'clock,  dear,"  said  Hermione. 

"  Still  so  early  ?  "  sighed  Ravenslee. 

They  were  sitting  alone  in  the  fire  glow,  so  near  that 
by  moving  his  hand  he  could  touch  her  where  she  sat 
curled  up  in  the  great  armchair ;  but  he  did  not  reach  out 
his  hand  because  they  were  alone  and  in  the  fire  glow,  and 
Hermione  had  never  seemed  quite  so  alluring. 

"  How  cosy  a  fire  is  —  and  how  unnecessary !  "  she 
sighed  contentedly. 

"  I  'm  English  enough  to  love  a  fire,  especially  when  it 
is  unnecessary,"  he  answered. 

"  English,  dear?  " 

"  My  mother  was  English ;  that 's  why  I  was  educated 
in  England." 

"  Your  mother !    How  she  must  have  loved  you !  " 

"  I  suppose  she  did ;  but,  you  see,  she  died  when  I  was 
a  baby." 

"  Poor  lonely  mite !  "  Here  her  hand  came  out  impul 
sively  to  caress  his  coat  sleeve  and  to  be  prisoned  there  by 
two  other  hands,  to  be  lifted  and  pressed  to  burning  lips, 
whereat  she  grew  all  rosy  in  the  fire  glow. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  he,  the  words  coming  a  little  un 
evenly,  "  it  would  be  too  much  to  ask  my  wife  to  —  come 
a  little  —  nearer  ?  " 

"  Nearer?  Why,  Geoffrey,  dear,  our  chairs  are  touch 
ing  now." 

"Our  chairs?  Why,  yes  —  so  they  are!  I  suppose," 
sighed  he,  "  I  suppose  it  would  be  breaking  my  word  to 
my  wife  if  I  happened  to  —  kiss  my  wife?  " 


Why  Ravenslee  Broke  his  Word      337 

"  Why,  Geoffrey  —  of  course  it  would !  " 

"  Yes,  I  feared  so !  "  he  nodded  and  kissed  her  hand  in 
stead,  and  there  fell  a  silence. 

"  How  heavenly  it  is ! "  she  whispered  softly,  leaning 
a  little  nearer  to  him. 

"  Heavenly !  "  he  answered,  leaning  a  little  nearer  to  her 
and  watching  the  droop  of  her  lashes. 

"  So  —  so  quiet  and  —  peaceful !  "  she  added,  drawing 
away  again,  conscious  of  his  look. 

"  Horribly  !  "  he  sighed. 

"  Geoffrey ! " 

"  Quiet  and  peace,"  he  explained,  "  may  hold  such  an 
infinitude  of  possibilities  impossible  of  realisation  to  a 
husband  who  is  bound  by  promises,  that  it  is  apt  to  be  a 
little  —  trying." 

Hermione  did  n't  speak  but  drew  his  hand  to  be  caressed 
by  the  soft  oval  of  a  cheek  and  touched  by  the  velvet  of 
shy  lips. 

"  And  yet,"  he  went  on,  staring  resolutely  at  the  fire, 
"  I  would  n't  change  —  this,  for  anything  else  the  world 
could  offer  me !  " 

"  Bear  with  me  —  a  little  longer,  dear !  "  she  murmured. 

"  As  long  as  you  will,  Hermione  —  providing  —  " 

"Well,  my  Geoffrey,  dear?" 

"  That  it  is  only  —  a  little  longer." 

"  You  don't  think  I  'm  very  —  silly,  do  you,  dear?  "  she 
enquired,  staring  into  the  fire. 

"  No,  not  very !  " 

"  Oh !  "  she  said  softly,  glancing  at  him  reproachfully. 
"  You  don't  think  me  —  cruel  ?  " 

"  Not  very,"  he  answered,  kissing  her  hand  again. 

"  Dear  Geoffrey,  you  don't  think  I  'm  very  selfish,  do 
you?  "  she  questioned  wistfully. 

"  No  —  never  that ! "  he  answered,  keeping  his  gaze 
averted. 

"Because  if  —  " 

"  If?  "  said  he. 

"  If  it  is  hard  for  you  —  "  the  soft  voice  faltered. 


338  The  Definite  Object 

"Yes,  Hermione?" 

"  If  you  really  think  I  'm  —  cruel  and  —  silly,  you  — 
need  n't  wait  —  any  longer  —  if  you  wish  —  " 

His  arms  were  about  her,  drawing  her  near,  clasping  her 
ever  closer,  and  she  held  him  away  no  more,  but  —  behold 
ing  her  wistful  eyes,  the  plaintive  droop  of  her  vivid  mouth, 
and  all  the  voiceless  pleading  of  her,  he  loosed  her  and 
turned  away. 

"  I  love  you  so  much  —  Hermione,  so  much,  that  your 
will  shall  be  my  will." 

She  rose,  and  leaning  against  the  carved  mantel  stared 
down  into  the  fire;  when  at  last  she  spoke,  there  was  a 
note  in  her  voice  he  had  never  heard  before. 

"  Geoffrey,  dear,  this  world  is  a  very  bad  world  for  a 
lonely  girl,  and  sometimes  a  very  hateful  world,  and  I 
have  been  lonely  nearly  all  my  life  —  and  I  did  n't  think 
there  were  such  men  as  you ;  I  did  n't  think  any  man  could 
love  so  unselfishly.  All  my  life  I  shall  —  treasure  the 
recollection  of  this  hour  —  yes,  always !  always !  " 

Then  she  turned  and,  ere  he  knew,  was  on  her  knees 
before  him,  had  twined  soft  arms  about  his  neck,  and  was 
looking  up  at  him  through  shining  tears. 

"  Yes,  I  'm  —  crying  a  little !  I  don't  do  it  often,  dear 
—  tears  don't  easily  come  with  me.  But  now  I  'm  crying 
because  —  oh,  because  I  'm  so  proud  —  so  proud  to  have 
won  such  a  wonderful  love.  Good  night  —  good  night ! 
Oh,  break  your  word  for  once  —  kiss  me,  my  husband !  " 

So  while  she  knelt  to  him  thus,  he  kissed  her  until  she 
sighed  and  stirred  in  his  embrace.  Then  she  rose  and 
hand  in  hand  they  crossed  the  room  and  he  opened  the 
door;  for  a  blissful  moment  they  stood  there  silent  in  the 
shadows,  but  when  he  would  have  kissed  her  again  she 
laughed  at  him  through  her  tears  and  fled  from  him  up 
the  wide  stairway. 


CHAPTER    XLIII 

HOW   SPIKE   GOT  EVEN 

A  CLOCK  in  the  hall  without  struck  midnight,  but  Ra- 
venslee  sat  on  long  after  the  silvery  chime  had  died  away, 
his  chin  sunk  on  broad  chest,  his  eyes  staring  blindly  at 
the  fading  embers,  lost  in  profound  but  joyful  meditation; 
once  he  turned  to  look  where  she  had  stood  beside  the 
mantel,  and  once  he  reached  out  to  touch  the  thrice-blessed 
chair  that  had  held  her. 

The  curtains  stirred  and  rustled  at  the  open  window 
behind  him,  but  he  sat  looking  into  the  flickering  fire,  see 
ing  there  pictures  of  the  future,  and  the  future  was  full  of 
a  happiness  beyond  words,  for  in  every  picture  Hermione 
moved. 

All  at  once  he  started  and  glanced  swiftly  around,  his 
lounging  attitude  changing  to  one  of  watchful  alertness, 
for  he  had  heard  a  sound  that  drew  rapidly  nearer  —  the 
hiss  and  pant  of  breath  drawn  in  quick  gasps.  Silently 
he  arose  and  turned  to  see  the  curtains  swing  apart  and 
a  shapeless  something  stagger  forward  and  fall  heavily. 
Then  he  reached  out  to  the  switch  beside  the  hearth,  and 
the  room  was  flooded  with  brilliant  light ;  the  figure  kneel 
ing  just  inside  the  swaying  curtains  uttered  a  strangled 
cry  and  threw  up  a  hand  before  his  face,  a  hand  dark  with 
spattering  blood. 

"Oh,  Geoff  — oh,  Geoff!"  panted  Spike,  "I  ain't  — 
come  thievin'  this  time  —  honest  t'  God,  I  ain't !  " 

"  Why,  you  're  hurt  —  what 's  the  matter?  " 

"  They  see  me  down  th'  road  as  I  came  an'  shot  me,  but 
this  ain't  nothin'.  Out  th'  lights,  Geoff  —  out  'em  — 
quick !  " 


34°  The  Definite  Object 

But  Ravenslee  had  crossed  the  room,  had  seized  the  lad's 
arm,  and  was  examining  the  ugly  graze  that  bled  so 
freely. 

"  That  ain't  nothin'  —  douse  th'  lights,  Geoff  —  out 
'em  quick.  Bud  's  coming  here  close  behind  —  Bud  an' 
Heine  —  they  mean  t'  plug  you  —  oh,  put  out  th' 
lights  —  " 

Instinctively  Ravenslee  turned,  but  even  as  he  did  so 
Spike  uttered  a  hoarse  cry. 

"  No,  ye  don't,  Bud  —  not  this  time,  by  God !  "  and 
sprang  upon  the  form  that  towered  between  the  curtains ; 
came  the  sound  of  fierce  scuffling,  a  deafening  report,  and 
running  forward,  Ravenslee  caught  Spike  as  he  staggered 
back ;  heard  a  rush  and  trample  of  feet  along  the  terrace, 
the  sound  of  blows  and  fierce  curses  behind  the  swaying 
curtains,  heard  the  Spider's  fierce  shout  and  Joe's  deep 
roar,  two  more  shots  in  rapid  succession,  and  the  swift 
patter  of  feet  in  flight  and  pursuit. 

"  How  is  it,  Spike?    Are  you  hurt,  old  chap?  " 

But  Spike  just  then  was  beyond  words,  so  Ravenslee 
bore  the  swooning  boy  to  a  settee,  and  laying  him  there, 
began  to  search  hastily  for  the  wound. 

But  now  the  door  was  flung  wide  and  Hermione  was 
beside  him. 

"  Geoffrey  —  oh,  my  love !    Have  they  hurt  you  ?  " 

"  No,  dear  —  thanks  to  Spike,  here !  " 

"  Arthur !    Oh,  thank  God  —  did  he  —  ?  " 

"  Took  the  bullet  meant  for  me,  Hermione.  I  owe  your 
brother  my  life !  " 

She  was  down  on  her  knees  and  very  soon  her  skilful 
fingers  had  laid  bare  the  ugly  wound  in  the  lad's  white 
arm.  But  now  came  Mrs.  Trapes,  looking  taller  and 
bonier  than  ever  in  a  long,  very  woolly  garment,  and  while 
she  aided  Hermione  to  bandage  the  wound,  Ravenslee 
brought  water  and  brandy,  and  very  soon  Spike  sighed 
and  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Hello,  Hermy !  "  he  said  faintly.  "  Don't  worry, 
I  'm  all  O.  K.  Bud  shot  me  an'  I  'm  glad,  because  now  I 


How  Spike  Got  Even         341 

can  ask  you  t'  forgive  me.  Y'  see,  he  'd  have  got  old 
Geoff  sure  if  it  had  n't  been  for  me,  so  you  —  you  will 
forgive  me,  won't  you?  " 

For  answer  Hermione  bent  and  kissed  his  pallid  cheek. 

"  I  '11  go  and  'phone  for  the  doctor,"  said  Ravenslee. 

"  Which,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  I  done  ten  minutes  ago, 
Mr.  Geoffrey.  Doctor  '11  be  right  along." 

Ravenslee  turned  to  Spike. 

"  How  are  you  now,  old  fellow?  " 

"  Only  a  bit  sick,  like.  But  say,  Geoff  —  I  know  I 
played  it  low  down  on  you,  but  —  will  you  —  shake  an'  try 
t'  forget?" 

Ravenslee  took  and  held  the  boy's  outstretched  hand. 

"  I  think  we  're  going  to  be  better  friends  than  ever, 
Spike !  " 

"  Good !  "  said  Spike,  smiling  wearily,  "  but  say,  Geoff 
—  dear  old  Geoff  —  if  I  got  t'  die  I  don't  mind  —  because 
I  guess  this  makes  us  quits  at  last  —  don't  it,  Geoff?  " 


CHAPTER    XLIV 

RETRIBUTION 

HALF-STUNNED  by  a  blow  from  Joe's  mighty  fist,  M'Ginnis 
saw  Heine  felled  by  Spider,  who,  having  promptly  and 
scientifically  kicked  him  unconscious,  snatched  the  revolver 
from  his  lax  fingers  and  turned  to  pursue.  As  he  came 
M'Ginnis  fired  rapidly  but,  dazed  by  the  blow,  his  aim  was 
wild,  so  he  turned  and  ran,  with  the  Spider  in  hot  pursuit. 
The  moon  was  down,  and  it  was  very  dark,  and  soon 
M'Ginnis  found  himself  in  the  denser  gloom  of  trees.  On 
he  ran,  twisting  and  doubling,  on  and  on,  until  spent  and 
breathless,  he  paused  to  hearken.  Far  away,  voices 
shouted  to  each  other,  voices  that  gradually  grew  more 
distant;  so,  finally  having  caught  his  breath,  M'Gin 
nis  went  on  again.  But  the  wood  was  full  of  noises  — 
strange  rustling  and  sudden,  soft  night  sounds  —  and  at 
every  sound  the  fugitive  paused  to  listen,  finger  on  trigger. 
And  ever  as  he  went  the  wild  blood  throbbed  and  pulsed 
within  his  brain,  sounding  now  like  the  pad-pad  of  pursu 
ing  feet  that  would  not  be  shaken  off,  and  again  like  a 
voice  that  mumbled  and  muttered  querulous  words  in  the 
air  about  him,  and  at  such  times  he  glanced  around  upon 
the  dark,  but  the  words  would  not  be  stilled: 

"  She  's  married  —  married  —  married !  You  drove  her 
into  his  arms  —  you  did  —  you  did  —  you  did !  And  he  's 
alive  still  and  with  her,  alive  —  alive  —  alive !  " 

And  sometimes  as  he  stumbled  along  through  that  place 
of  gloom,  he  cursed  bitterly  beneath  his  breath,  and  some 
times  he  ground  sweating  j  aws  since  needs  must  he  hearken 
to  that  taunting  devil-voice: 


Retribution  343 

"  Alive  and  with  his  wife  beside  him  —  alive !  And 
yours  the  fault  —  yours  —  yours !  Your  shot  at  Spike 
so  near  the  house  lost  you  the  game  —  lost  —  lost !  Your 
shot  at  Spike  was  a  call  for  help  —  saved  the  life  of  the 
man  you  came  to  kill!  Your  shot  at  Spike  lost  you  the 
game  —  lost  —  lost !  " 

So,  followed  by  the  pad-pad  of  running  feet,  haunted 
by  the  querulous  demon-voice,  M'Ginnis  stumbled  out  upon 
the  road  —  a  lonely  road  at  most  times  but  quite  desolate 
at  this  hour.  The  fugitive  hastened  along,  dogged  by 
sounds  that  none  but  he  might  hear,  yet  to  him  these 
sounds  were  dreadfully  real,  so  real  that  once,  goaded  to 
a  paroxysm  of  blind  fury,  he  whirled  about  and  fired  wildly 
—  a  shot  that  seemed  to  split  asunder  the  deep  night 
silence,  filling  it  with  a  thousand  echoes.  Once  more  he 
turned  and  ran,  ran  until  his  breath  laboured  painfully 
and  the  sweat  ran  from  him,  but  ever  the  sounds  were  close 
about  him. 

At  last  he  beheld  lights  that  moved,  and  reaching  a  way 
side  halt,  clambered  aboard  a  late  trolley  and  crouched 
as  far  from  the  light  as  possible.  But  even  so,  his  dis 
ordered  dress,  his  pallor,  and  the  wild  glare  of  his  eyes 
drew  the  idle  glances  of  the  few  passengers. 

"  Looks  like  you  'd  been  through  th'  mill,  bo !  "  said 
one,  a  great,  rough  fellow;  but  meeting  M'Ginnis's  an 
swering  glare,  he  quailed  and  shrank  away. 

Dawn  was  at  hand  when  at  last  he  reached  O'Rourke's 
saloon  and,  letting  himself  in,  strode  into  the  bar.  The 
place  was  deserted  at  this  hour,  but  from  a  room  hard  by 
came  the  sound  of  voices,  hoarse  laughter,  and  the  rattle 
of  chips  that  told  a  poker  game  was  still  in  progress. 

Scowling,  M'Ginnis  stood  awhile  to  listen.  Then,  lift 
ing  the  flap  of  the  bar,  he  passed  through  the  narrow  door 
beyond,  along  the  passage  and  so  to  that  dingy  office, 
from  the  open  door  of  which  a  light  streamed. 

Scowling  still,  M'Ginnis  strode  in,  then  stood  suddenly 
still,  lifted  his  right  hand  toward  his  breast,  then  paused 
as  Soapy,  turning  about  in  the  swing  chair,  took  a  heavy, 


344  The  Definite  Object 

ivory-handled  revolver  from  where  it  had  lain  on  the 
desk  beside  a  packet  of  letters  tied  up  in  a  faded  blue 
ribbon. 

"  Lock  th'  door,  Bud,  lock  th'  door !  "  said  he  softly. 
"  So !  "  he  nodded,  as  M'Ginnis  obeyed.  "  'N'  say,  Bud, 
take  that  hand  away  from  y'r  gun  an'  —  keep  it  away  — 
see?  "  And  the  lamplight  glittered  on  the  long  barrel 
that  rested  on  Soapy's  knee. 

"  So  —  this  is  th'  game  —  hey  ?  "  demanded  M'Ginnis 
hoarsely,  his  bloodshot  eyes  fixed  on  Soapy  unwinkingly. 

"  'S  right,  Bud.  Y'  see,  I  been  takin'  a  peek  int'  that 
little  tin  safe  o'  yours  —  say,  it  looks  like  you  'd  had  a 
bit  of  a  rough  house,  Bud !  " 

Soapy's  cigarette  quivered  and  was  still  again,  while 
M'Ginnis  watched  him,  breathing  thickly  but  speaking  no 
word,  and  Soapy  went  on  again: 

"  I  been  takin'  a  peek  into  that  little  tin  safe  oj  yours, 
an'  I  found  some  papers  you  'd  been  kind  o'  treasurin' 
up  about  me,  so  I  burnt  'em,  Bud  —  not  as  they  mattered 
very  much,  there  ain't  nobody  t'  worry  when  I  snuff  it  — 
but  I  found  as  you  'd  got  other  papers  about  other  guys 
as  would  matter  some  t'  them,  I  guess  —  so  I  burnt  'em 
too,  Bud." 

"  Burnt  'em ! "  cried  M'Ginnis  in  a  strangled  voice, 
"  burnt  'em  —  you  —  " 

"  It  ain't  no  use  ts  get  riled,  Bud ;  I  burnt  'em  — 
there  's  th'  ashes  !  " 

M'Ginnis  glanced  at  the  heap  of  ash  by  the  stove  and 
burst  into  a  frenzy  of  curses  and  fierce  invective,  while 
Soapy,  lounging  back  in  the  chair,  watched  him  unmoved 
until  he  had  done,  then  he  spoke  again: 

"  Also  I  found  —  letters,  Bud,  a  packet  tied  up  in  blue 
ribbon  —  an',  Bud,  they  matter  a  whole  lot.  Here  they 
are  —  look  at  'em !  " 

For  a  moment  Soapy's  baleful  eye  turned  aside  to  the 
desk  as  he  reached  for  the  letters,  and  in  that  moment 
M'Ginnis's  pistol  spoke,  and  Soapy,  lurching  sideways, 
sagged  to  his  knees,  his  back  against  the  desk.  Again 


Retribution  345 

and  again  M'Ginnis's  weapon  clicked,  but  no  report  fol 
lowed,  and  Soapy  slowly  dragged  himself  to  his  feet.  His 
cigarette  fell  and  lay  smouldering,  and  for  a  moment  he 
stared  at  it;  then  he  laughed  softly  and  glanced  at 
.  M'Ginnis. 

"  You  fool,  Bud,  you  dog-gone  fool !  Forgot  t'  load  up 
y'r  gun,  eh?  But  I  guess  you  got  me  all  right,  anyway  — 
you  're  shootin'  better  t'night  than  you  did  in  the  wood 
that  time  —  eh,  Bud  ?  Now  I  want  t'  tell  you  —  "  He 
was  choked  suddenly  with  a  ghastly  coughing,  and  when 
he  spoke  again,  his  voice  was  fainter,  and  he  held  a 
smartly-bordered  handkerchief  to  his  mouth. 

"  They  say  God  made  this  world,  Bud  —  if  He  did,  I 
guess  He  was  asleep  when  you  was  made,  Bud  —  anyway, 
remembering  little  Maggie,  you  ain't  got  no  right  to 
breathe  any  longer  —  so  that 's  for  me  —  an'  that 's  for 
her!" 

Lounging  still,  he  fired  twice  from  the  hip  and  M'Ginnis, 
twisting  upon  his  heels,  fell  and  lay  with  his  face  at  his 
slayer's  feet.  Then,  spying  the  packet  of  letters  that  lay 
upon  the  grimy  floor,  Soapy  stooped  painfully  and  fired 
rapidly  four  times;  when  the  smoke  cleared,  of  those 
tear-blotted  pages  with  their  secret  of  a  woman's  anguish, 
there  remained  nothing  but  a  charred  piece  of  ribbon  and 
a  few  smouldering  fragments  of  paper.  And  now  Soapy 
was  seized  with  another  fit  of  coughing,  above  which  he 
heard  hoarse  shouts  and  hands  that  thundered  at  the  door. 
Lazily  he  stood  upon  his  feet,  turned  to  glance  from  that 
scorched  ribbon  to  the  still  form  upon  the  floor  and,  lift 
ing  a  lazy  foot,  ground  his  heel  into  that  still  face,  then, 
crossing  unsteadily  to  the  door,  unlocked  it.  Beyond  was 
a  crowd,  very  silent  now,  who  drew  back  to  give  him  way, 
but  Soapy  paused  in  the  doorway  and  leaned  there  a 
moment. 

"  What 's  doin'?  "  cried  a  voice. 

"  Say,  run  f'r  a  doctor,  somebody  —  quick  —  Soapy  's 
hurt  bad,  I  reckon  —  " 

"  Hurt?  "  said  Soapy,  in  soft,  lazy  tones.     "  'S  right! 


346          The  Definite  Object 

But  —  say  —  fellers,  there  's  a  son  of  a  dog  in  there  — 
waitin'  f'r  a  spade  —  t'  bury  him ! "  Then  Soapy 
laughed,  choked,  and  groping  before  him  blindly,  stag 
gered  forward,  and  pitching  sideways,  fell  with  his  head 
beneath  a  table  and  died  there. 


CHAPTER    XLV 

OF    THE    OLD    UN    AND    FATE 

SPIKE  leaned  back  among  his  cushions  and,  glancing  away 
across  close-cropped  lawns  and  shady  walks,  sighed  lux 
uriously. 

"  Say,  Ann,"  he  remarked.  "  Gee  whiz,  Trapesy,  there 
sure  ain't  no  flies  on  this  place  of  old  Geoff's !  " 

"  Flies,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  glancing  up  from  her  house 
hold  accounts,  "  you  go  into  the  kitchen  an'  look  around." 

"  I  mean  it 's  aces  up." 

"  Up  where?  "  queried  Mrs.  Trapes. 

"  Well,  it 's  a  regular  Jim-dandy  cracker-jack  —  some 
swell  clump,  eh?  " 

"  Arthur,  that  low,  tough  talk  don't  go  with  me,"  said 
Mrs.  Trapes,  and  resumed  her  intricate  calculations  again. 

"  Say,  when  '11  Geoff  an'  Hermy  be  back?  " 

"  Well,  considerin'  she  's  gone  to  N'  York  t'  buy  more 
clo'es  as  she  don't  need,  an'  considerin'  Mr.  Ravenslee  's 
gone  with  her,  I  don't  know." 

"  An'  what  you  do  know  don't  cut  no  ice.  Anyway, 
I  'm  gettin'  lonesome." 

"  What,  ain't  I  here?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Trapes  sharply. 

"  Sure.    I  can't  lose  you !  " 

"  Oh !    Now  I  '11  tell  you  what  it  is,  my  good  b'y  —  " 

"  Cheese  it,  Trapes,  you  make  me  tired,  that 's  what." 

"  If  you  sass  me,  I  '11  box  your  young  ears  —  an'  that 's 
what !  " 

"  I  don't  think !  "  added  Spike.  "  Nobody  ain't  goin'  t' 
box  me.  I  'm  a  sure  enough  invalid,  and  don't  you  forget 
it." 


348          The  Definite  Object 

"  My  land !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  a  bit  of  a  hole 
in  his  arm,  that 's  all." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  got  it,  'stead  o'  me  —  it  smarts  like 
sixty !  " 

"  Shows  it 's  healin'.  Doctor  said  as  it  '11  be  well  in  a 
,week." 

"  Doctor !  "  sniffed  Spike,  "  he  don't  know  what  I  suffer. 
I  may  be  dyin'  for  all  he  knows." 

"  You  are !  "  sighed  Mrs.  Trapes,  with  a  gloomy  nod. 

"  Eh  —  what  ?  "  exclaimed  Spike,  sitting  up. 

"  So  am  I  —  we  all  are  —  by  the  minute.  Every  night 
we  're  a  day's  march  nearer  home!  So  now  jest  set  right 
there  an'  go  on  dyin',  my  b'y !  " 

"  Say,  now,  cut  it  out,"  said  Spike,  wriggling.  "  That 
ain't  no  kind  o'  way  t'  cheer  an  invalid." 

"  It 's  th'  truth." 

"  Well,  it  don't  cheer  me  more,  so  let 's  have  a  lie  for  a 
change." 

Mrs.  Trapes  snorted  and  fell  to  adding  and  subtracting 
busily. 

"  Say,  Ann,"  said  he  after  awhile,  "  if  you  got  any 
more  o'  that  punkin  pie  I  could  do  some  right  now.  I  'm 
hungry." 

"  It  ain't  eatin'  time  yet." 

"  But  —  Gee !    ain't  I  a  invalid?  " 

"  Sure !  Consequently  you  must  be  fed  slow  an' 
cautious." 

"  Oh,  fudge !  What 's  th'  good  of  a  guy  bein'  a  invalid 
if  a  guy  can't  feed  when  he  wants  to?  " 

"  What 's  a  hundred  an'  ninety-one  from  twenty- 
three?  "  enquired  Mrs.  Trapes. 

"  Skidoo !  "  murmured  Spike  sulkily.  But  after  Mrs. 
Trapes  had  subtracted  and  added  busily  he  spoke  again. 

'  You  ain't  such  a  bad  old  gink  —  sometimes,"  he  con 
ceded. 

"  Gink?  "  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  glaring. 

"  I  mean  you  can  be  a  real  daisy  when  you  want  to." 

"Can  I?" 


The  Old  Un  and  Fate         349 

"  Sure !  Sometimes  you  can  be  so  kind  an'  nice  I  like 
you  a  whole  lot !  " 

"Is  that  so?" 

"  You  bet  it  is  —  honest  Injun." 

"  Arthur,  if  it 's  that  pie  you  want  —  " 

"  It  ain't !  " 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"  How  d'  ye  know  I  want  anything?  " 

"  Oh,  I  just  guess,  maybe." 

"  Well,  say  —  if  you  could  cop  me  one  o'  Geoff's  cigar 
ettes  —  one  o'  them  with  gold  letterin'  onto  'em  —  " 

"  You  mean  —  thieve  you  one !  " 

"  Why,  no,  a  cigarette  ain't  thievin'.  Say,  now,  dear 
old  Trapesy,  I  'm  jest  dyin'  for  a  gasper !  " 

"  Well,  you  go  on  dyin',  an'  I  '11  set  right  here  an'  watch 
how  you  do  it." 

"  If  I  was  t'  die  you  'd  be  sorry  for  this,  I  reckon." 

"  Anyway,  I  'd  plant  some  flowers  on  you,  my  lad,  an' 
keep  your  lonely  grave  nice  —  " 

"  Huh !  "  sniffed  Spike,  "  a  lot  o'  good  that  'ud  do  me 
when  I  was  busy  pushin'  up  th'  daisies.  It 's  what  I  want 
now  that  matters." 

"  An'  what  you  want  now,  Arthur,  is  a  rod  of  iron  — 
good  'n'  heavy.  Discipline  's  your  cryin'  need,  an'  you  're 
sure  goin'  t'  get  it." 

"Oh?     Where?" 

"  At  college !  My  land,  think  of  you  at  Yale  or  Har 
vard  or  C'lumbia  —  " 

"  Sure  you  can  think ;    thinkin'  can't  cut  no  ice." 

"  Anyway,  you  're  goin'  soon  as  you  're  fit ;  Mr.  Geoff 
rey  says  so." 

"  Oh,  Geoff  's  batty  —  he  's  talkin'  in  his  sleep.  I  ain't 
goin'  t'  no  college  —  Geoff  's  got  sappy  in  th'  bean  —  " 

"  Well,  you  tell  him  so." 

"  Sure  thing  —  you  watch  me !  " 

"  No,  I  '11  get  you  somethin'  t'  eat  —  some  milk  an'  —  " 

"  Say,  what  about  that  punkin  pie?  " 

"  You  sit  right  there  an'  wait." 


350  The  Definite  Object 

"  Chin-Chin !  "  nodded  Spike,  and  watched  her  into  the 
house. 

No  sooner  was  he  alone  than  he  was  out  of  his  chair  and, 
descending  the  steps  into  the  garden,  sped  gleefully  away 
across  lawns  and  along  winding  paths,  following  a  hap 
hazard  course.  But,  as  he  wandered  thus,  he  came  to  the 
stables  and  so  to  a  large  building  beyond,  where  were  many 
automobiles  of  various  patterns  and  make ;  and  here,  very 
busy  with  brushes,  sponge,  and  water,  washing  a  certain 
car  and  making  a  prodigious  splashing,  was  a  figure  there 
was  no  mistaking,  and  one  whom  Spike  hailed  in  joyous 
surprise. 

"  Well,  well,  if  it  ain't  th'  old  Spider !  Gee,  but  I  'm 
glad  t'  see  you !  Say,  old  sport,  I  'm  a  invalid  —  pipe  mj 
bandages,  will  ye?  " 

"  Huh !  "  grunted  the  Spider,  without  glancing  up  from 
the  wheel  he  was  washing. 

"  Say,  old  lad,"  continued  Spike,  "  I  guess  they  told  you 
how  I  put  it  all  over  Bud,  eh?  " 

"  Mph !  "  said  the  Spider,  slopping  the  water  about. 

"  Heard  how  I  saved  old  Geoff  from  gettin'  snuffed  out, 
didn't  yer?" 

"  Huh-umph !  "  growled  the  Spider. 

"  That 's  sure  some  car,  eh?  Gee,  but  it 's  good  t'  see 
you  again,  anyway.  How  'd  you  come  here,  Spider?  " 

"  U-huh !  "  said  the  Spider. 

"  Say,"  exclaimed  Spike,  "  quit  makin*  them  noises  an' 
say  somethin',  can't  yer?  If  you  can't  talk  t'  a  pal,  I  'm 
goinV; 

"  Right-o,  Kid !  "  said  the  Spider ;  "  only  see  as  you 
don't  go  sheddin'  no  more  buttons  around." 

"  B-buttons  !  "  stammered  Spike.  "  What  yer  mean  ? 
What  buttons?" 

The  Old  Un,  who  happened  to  have  been  dozing  in  the 
limousine  that  stood  in  a  shady  corner,  sat  up  suddenly 
and  blinked. 

''  Why,  I  mean,"  answered  the  Spider,  wringing  water 
from  the  sponge  he  held  and  speaking  very  deliberately, 


The  Old  Un  and  Fate         351 

"  I  mean  the  button  as  you  —  left  behind  you  —  in  th' 
wood ! " 

Spike  gasped  and  sat  down  weakly  upon  the  running- 
board  of  a  car,  and  the  Old  Un  stole  a  furtive  peep  at 
him. 

"So  you  — know — ?" 

"  Sure  I  know  —  more  'n  I  want  t'  know  about  you,  so 
—  chase  yourself  out  o'  here  —  beat  it !  " 

Spike  stared  in  mute  amazement,  then  flushed  painfully. 

"  You  mean  —  you  an'  me  —  ain't  goin'  t'  be  pals  no 
longer?  "  he  asked  wistfully. 

"  That 's  what !  "  nodded  the  Spider,  without  lifting  his 
scowling  gaze  from  the  sponge.  "  Kid,  I  ain't  no  Gold- 
medal  Sunday-school  scholar  nor  I  ain't  never  won  no 
prizes  at  any  Purity  League  conference,  but  there  's  some 
guys  too  rotten  even  f'r  me !  " 

"  But  I  —  I  —  saved  his  life,  did  n't  I?  " 

"  That  ain't  nothin'  t'  blow  about  after  what  you  did  in 
that  wood.  Oh,  wake  up  an'  see  just  how  dirty  an'  rotten 
you  are ! " 

Spike  rose  and  stood,  his  hands  tight-clenched,  and 
though  he  tried  to  frown,  he  could  n't  hide  the  pitiful 
twitching  of  his  lips  nor  the  quaver  in  his  voice. 

"  I  guess  you  mean  you  're  goin'  t'  give  me  th'  throw- 
down?  " 

"  Well,"  answered  the  Spider,  scowling  at  the  sponge 
in  his  hand,  "  there  's  jest  two  or  three  things  as  I  ain't 
got  no  use  for,  an'  one  of  'em  's  —  murder!  " 

Hereupon  Spike  shrank  away,  and  the  Old  Un,  reaching 
out  stealthily,  opened  the  door  of  the  limousine  while  the 
Spider  fell  to  work  again,  splashing  more  than  ever.  Thus 
as  Spike  crept  away  with  head  a-droop,  the  Old  Un,  all 
unnoticed,  stole  after  him,  his  old  eyes  very  bright  and 
birdlike,  and,  as  he  followed,  keeping  in  the  shade  of  hedge 
and  tree  as  much  as  possible,  he  whispered  a  word  to  him 
self  over  and  over  again : 

"  Lorgorramighty !  " 

But  Spike  went  on  with  dragging  feet,  ignorant  that 


352  The  Definite  Object 

any  one  followed,  lost  in  a  sudden  sense  of  shame  such  as 
he  had  never  known  before  —  a  shame  that  was  an  agony : 
for  though  his  bodily  eyes  were  blinded  with  bitter  tears, 
the  eyes  of  his  mind  were  opened  wide  at  last,  and  he  saw 
himself  foul  and  dirty,  even  as  the  Spider  had  said.  So 
on  stumbling  feet  Spike  reached  a  shady,  grassy  corner 
remote  from  all  chance  of  observation  and,  throwing  him 
self  down  there,  he  lay  with  his  face  hidden,  wetting  the 
grass  with  the  tears  of  his  abasement. 

When  at  last  he  raised  his  head,  he  beheld  a  little  old 
man  leaning  patiently  against  a  tree  near  by  and  watching 
him  with  a  pair  of  baleful  eyes. 

"  Hello !  "  said  Spike  wearily.    "  Who  are  you?  " 

"  I  'm  Fate,  I  am !  "  nodded  the  Old  Un.  "  Persooin' 
Fate,  that 's  me." 

"What  yer  here  for,  anyway?"  enquired  the  lad, 
humble  in  his  abasement. 

"  I  'm  here  to  persoo  !  " 

"  Say,  now,  what 's  your  game;   what  yer  want?  " 

"  I  want  you,  me  lad." 

"  Well,  say  —  beat  it,  please  —  I  want  t'  be  alone." 

"  Not  much,  me  lad.  I  'm  Fate,  I  am,  an'  when  Fate 
comes  up  agin  murder,  Fate  ain't  t'  be  shook  off." 

"Murder!"  gasped  Spike.  "Oh,  my  God!  I  — I 
ain't  —  " 

The  lad  sprang  to  his  feet  and  was  running  on  the  in 
stant,  but  turning  to  glance  back,  tripped  over  some  ob 
stacle  and  fell.  Swaying  he  rose  and  stumbled  on,  but 
slower  now  by  reason  of  the  pain  in  his  wounded  arm. 
Thus,  when  at  last  he  came  out  upon  the  road,  the  Old  Un 
was  still  close  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

IN  WHICH  GEOFFREY  RAVENSLEE  OBTAINS  HIS  OBJECT 

MRS.  TRAPES  glanced  sadly  around  her  cosy  housekeeper's 
room  and  sighed  regretfully;  she  was  alone,  and  upon  the 
table  ready  to  hand  lay  her  neat  bonnet,  her  umbrella,  and 
a  pair  of  white  cotton  gloves,  beholding  which  articles 
her  lips  set  more  resolutely,  her  bony  arms  folded  them 
selves  more  tightly,  and  she  nodded  in  grim  determination. 

"  The  labourer  is  worthy  of  his  hire !  "  she  sighed,  ap 
parently  addressing  the  bonnet,  "  but,  if  so  be  the  labourer 
ain't  worthy,  why  then,  the  sooner  he  quits  —  " 

A  sound  of  quick,  light  feet  upon  the  stair  and  a  voice 
that  laughed  gaily,  a  laugh  so  full  of  happiness  that  even 
Mrs.  Trapes's  iron  features  relaxed,  and  her  grim  mouth 
curved  in  her  rare  smile.  At  that  moment  the  door  opened 
and  Hermione  appeared,  a  radiant  Hermione  who  clasped 
Mrs.  Trapes  in  her  arms  and  tangled  her  up  in  her  long 
motor  veil  and  laughed  again. 

"  Oh,  Ann,  such  a  day !  "  she  exclaimed,  laying  aside  her 
long  dust-coat.  "  New  York  is  a  paradise  —  when  you  're 
rich !  No  more  bargain  days  and  clawing  matches  over 
the  remnant  counter,  Ann !  Oh,  it 's  wonderful  to  be  able 
to  buy  anything  I  want  —  anything !  Think  of  it,  Ann, 
isn't  it  just  a  dream  of  joy?  And  I've  shopped  and 
shopped,  and  he  was  so  dear  and  patient!  I  bought 
Arthur  a  complete  outfit  —  " 

"  Arthur !  "  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  and  groaned. 

"  And  you,  Ann,  you  dear  thing,  I  bought  you  —  guess 
what  ?  But  you  never  could  !  I  bought  you  a  gold  watch, 
the  very  best  I  could  find,  and  he  bought  you  a  chain  for  it, 
a  long  one  to  go  around  your  dear  neck,  set  with  diamonds 


354          The  Definite  Object 

and  rubies,  I  mean  the  chain  is  —  it 's  the  cutest  thing, 
Ann!  You  remember  you  used  to  dream  of  a  gold  chain 
set  with  real  diamonds,  some  day  ?  Well,  *  some  day  's  ' 
to-day,  Ann." 

"  But  —  oh,  Hermy,  I  —  I  — 

"  He  wants  to  give  it  you  himself,  because  he  says  you  're 
the  best  friend  he  ever  had  and  —  oh,  here  he  is !  You  did 
say  so,  did  n't  you,  Geoffrey?  " 

"  And  I  surely  mean  it !  "  answered  Ravenslee,  tossing 
his  driving  gauntlets  into  a  chair,  "  though  you  certainly 
threw  cold  water  upon  my  peanut  barrow,  did  n't  you, 
Mrs.  Trapes  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Geoffrey,  dear,  do  give  her  that  precious  package ; 
I  'm  dying  to  see  her  open  it !  " 

So  Ravenslee  drew  the  jeweller's  neat  parcel  from  his 
pocket  and  put  it  into  Mrs.  Trapes's  toil-worn  hand.  For 
a  moment  her  bony  fingers  clutched  it,  then  she  sighed 
tremulously  and,  placing  it  on  the  table,  rose  and  stood 
staring  down  at  it.  When  at  last  she  spoke,  her  voice 
was  harsher  than  usual. 

"  Hermy,  dear  —  I  mean  Mrs.  Ravenslee,  ma'am,  I  — 
can't  —  take  'em !  " 

"  But,  dear  —  why  not?  " 

"  Because  they  're  coals  o'  fire." 

"  But  you  must  take  them,  dear ;  we  bought  them  for 
you  and  —  " 

"  Which  jools,  ma'am,  I  can  in  no  wise  accept." 

"  Why,  Ann,  dear,  whatever  —  " 

"  Which  jools,  ma'am,  having  been  a  dream,  must  for  me 
so  remain,  me  not  bein'  faithful  in  my  dooties  to  you  an' 
Mr.  Geoffrey.  Consequently  I  begs  to  tender  you  now 
my  resignation,  yieldin'  up  my  post  in  your  service  to  one 
better  worthy,  and  returnin'  t'  th'  place  wherefrom  I 
come." 

Here  Mrs.  Trapes  put  on  her  bonnet,  setting  it  a  little 
askew  in  her  agitation. 

"  Th'  labourer  is  worthy  of  his  hire,  but  if  he  ain't  — 
so  be  it !  " 


Geoffrey  Obtains  his  Object     355 

Here  Mrs.  Trapes  tied  her  bonnet  strings  so  tightly  and 
with  such  resolute  hands  that  she  choked. 

"  Why,  Ann  dear,"  cried  Hermione,  "  whatever  do  you 
mean?  As  if  I  could  bear  to  part  with  you!  "  Here  she 
untied  the  bonnet  strings.  "  As  if  I  could  ever  let  you  go 
back  to  Mulligan's !  "  Here  she  took  off  the  bonnet.  "  As 
if  I  could  ever  forget  all  your  tender  love  and  care  for  me 
in  the  days  when  things  were  so  hard  and  so  very  dark ! " 
Here  she  tossed  the  bonnet  into  a  corner. 

"  My  land !  "  sighed  Mrs.  Trapes,  "  me  best  bonnet  —  " 

"  I  know,  Ann.  I  made  it  for  you  over  a  year  ago,  and 
it 's  time  you  had  another,  anyway !  Now,  open  that  par 
cel  —  this  minute !  " 

But  instead  of  doing  so,  Mrs.  Trapes  sank  down  in  the 
chair  beside  the  table  and  bowed  her  head  in  her  hands. 

"  Hermy,"  said  she,  "  oh,  my  lamb,  he  's  gone !  You 
left  Arthur  in  my  care  an'  —  he  's  gone,  an'  it 's  my  fault. 
Went  away  at  five  o'clock,  an'  here  it  is  nigh  on  to  ten  — 
an'  him  sick !  God  knows  I  've  searched  for  him  — • 
tramped  to  th'  ferry  an'  back,  an'  th'  footmen  they  've 
looked  for  him  an'  so  have  th'  maids  —  but  Arthur  's  gone 
—  an'  it 's  my  fault !  So,  Hermy  —  my  dear  —  blame 
me  an'  let  me  go  —  " 

The  harsh  voice  broke  and,  bowing  her  head,  she  sat 
silent,  touching  the  unopened  packet  of  jewellery  with 
one  long,  bony  finger.  . 

"  Why,  Ann  —  dear  Ann  —  you  're  crying !  "  Her 
mione  was  down  on  her  knees,  had  clasped  that  long  bony 
figure  in  her  arms.  "  You  must  n't,  Ann,  you  must  n't. 
I  'm  sure  it  was  n't  your  fault,  so  don't  grieve,  dear  — 
there ! "  And  she  had  drawn  the  disconsolate  grey  head 
down  upon  her  shoulder  and  pillowed  it  there. 

"  But  —  oh,  Hermy,  he  's  gone !  An'  you  told  me  to  — 
look  after  him." 

"  Ann,  if  Arthur  meant  to  go,  I  'm  sure  you  could  n't 
have  prevented  him ;  he  is  n't  a  child  any  longer,  dear. 
There,  be  comforted  —  we  '11  hunt  for  him  in  the  car  — 
won't  we,  Geoffrey?  " 


356          The  Definite  Object 

"  Of  course,"  nodded  Ravenslee,  "  I  '11  'phone  the  gar 
age  right  away." 

But  as  he  opened  the  door  he  came  face  to  face  with 
Joe,  who  touched  an  eyebrow  and  jerked  a  thumb  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  S'cuse  me,  sir,"  said  he,  "  but  it 's  that  Old  Un,  cov 
ered  wi'  dust  'e  is,  sir,  an'  wants  a  word  wi'  you.  And, 
sir,  'e  's  that  mysterious  as  never  was.  Shall  I  let  him 
come  in,  sir?  " 

"  You  try  an'  keep  me  out,  my  lad,  that 's  all !  "  panted 
the  Old  Un,  ducking  under  Joe's  great  arm,  "  I  'm  a  better 
man  nor  ever  you  '11  be !  " 

So  saying,  the  Old  Un  hobbled  forward  and,  sinking 
into  the  nearest  armchair,  fanned  himself  with  his  hat, 
which,  like  the  rest  of  his  garments,  bore  the  dust  of  travel. 

"  Greetin's,  Guv ! "  said  he,  when  he  had  caught  his 
breath.  "  'Ere  I  be  —  a  old  man  as  'as  done  more  for 
ye  than  all  th'  young  'uns  put  t'gether.  Mrs.  Ravenslee, 
ma'am,  best  respex !  " 

"  And  what  have  you  been  doing  now  ?  "  enquired  Ra 
venslee,  smiling. 

"  Well,  Guv,  I  been  an'  got  th'  murderer  for  ye,  that 's 
all!" 

Hermione  caught  her  breath  suddenly  and  gazed  at  the 
fierce,  dusty  old  man  with  eyes  full  of  growing  terror; 
beholding  which  Ravenslee  frowned,  then  laughed  lightly 
and,  seating  himself  on  a  corner  of  the  table,  swung  his 
leg  to  and  fro. 

"  So  you  've  found  him  out,  have  you,  Old  Un?  " 

"  Ah,  that  I  have !  " 

"  Are  you  sure?  " 

"  Ah,  quite  sure,  Guv." 

"  Well,  where  is  he  —  trot  him  out." 

"  'E  's  comin'  along  —  th'  Spider  's  bringin'  un.  Ye 
see,  he  's  a  bit  wore  out  same  as  I  am  —  we  been  trampin' 
all  th'  arternoon.  Look  at  me  shoes,  that 's  th'  worst  o' 
patent  leather  —  they  shows  th'  dust.  Joe,  my  lad,  jest 
give  'em  a  flick  over  with  ye  wipe." 


Geoffrey  Obtains  his  Object     357 

But  at  this  moment  steps  were  heard  slowly  approach 
ing,  and  Hermione  uttered  an  inarticulate  cry,  then  spoke 
in  an  agonised  whisper :  "  Arthur !  " 

Pallid  of  cheek  and  drooping  of  head  Spike  stood  in  the 
doorway,  his  shabby,  threadbare  clothes  dusty  and  travel- 
stained,  his  slender  shape  encircled  by  the  Spider's  long 
arm.  At  Hermione's  cry  he  lifted  his  head  and  looked  up 
yearningly,  his  sensitive  mouth  quivered,  his  long-lashed 
eyes  swam  in  sudden  tears,  he  strove  to  speak  but  choked 
instead;  then  Ravenslee's  calm,  pleasant  voice  broke  the 
painful  silence. 

"  Old  Un,"  said  he,  rising,  "  I  understand  you  are  fond 
of  jam  —  well,  from  now  on  you  shall  bathe  in  it  if  you 
wish." 

"  Spoke  like  a  true  sport,  Guv !  " 

"  Why,  you  see,  you  have  surely  done  me  a  very  great 
service." 

"  Meanin'  because  I  found  ye  th'  murderer." 

"  Murderer?  "  exclaimed  Ravenslee,  staring. 

"  Why,  yes  —  there  'e  is !  "  and  the  old  man  pointed  a 
long  finger  at  the  shrinking  Spike. 

"  Old  Un,"  said  Ravenslee,  shaking  his  head,  "  don't 
joke  with  me  —  " 

"I  —  I  ain't  jokin',  Guv,"  cried  the  Old  Un,  rising. 
"  Why  —  oh,  Lorgorramighty,  you  don't  mean  t'  say  as 
this  ain't  'im  ?  Why,  'e  's  confessed,  Guv ;  I  'card  'im !  * 

Ravenslee  smiled  gently  and  shook  his  head  again. 

"  But  he  has  been  sick,  Old  Un ;  he  was  hurt,  you  know, 
when  he  saved  my  life." 

"  But,  Lord,  Guv,  if  'e  's  confessed  —  " 

"  He  has  been  sick,  Old  Un,  and  when  we  are  sick  the 
wisest  of  us  are  apt  to  say  silly  things  —  even  I  did,  so 
they  tell  me." 

"What?"  quavered  the  old  man,  "ain't  I  —  ain't  I 
found  no  murderer  for  ye,  arter  all,  Guv?  " 

"  You  've  done  something  much,  very  much  better,  Old 
Un  — you  've  found  me  my  brother !  " 

"  Brother !  "  echoed  Spike,  "  brother?     Oh,  Geoff  —  n 


358          The  Definite  Object 

he  sighed  deeply,  and  as  Ravenslee  crossed  toward  him 
he  smiled  wanly  and  sank  swooning  into  the  supporting 
arms  of  the  Spider,  who  at  a  word  from  Hermione  bore 
the  boy  up-stairs ;  but  scarcely  was  he  laid  upon  his  bed 
than  he  opened  his  heavy  eyes. 

"  Say,  Spider,"  said  he  wearily,  "  old  Geoff  sure  does 
play  square  —  even  to  a  worm  like  me  —  well,  I  guess  ! 
No,  don't  go  yet,  I  want  yer  to  hear  me  try  to  explain 
the  kind  o'  dirty  dog  I  been  —  I  guess  he  won't  want  t5 
call  me  '  brother '  after  that ;  no,  siree,  he  '11  cut  me  out 
same  as  you  have  an'  serve  me  right  too."  Then  turning 
toward  where  Ravenslee  and  Hermione  stood  he  continued : 
"  Geoff  —  Hermy,  dear  —  ah,  no,  don't  touch  me,  I  ain't 
worth  it.  I  'm  too  dirty  —  Spider  says  so  —  an'  I  guess 
he  's  right.  Listen  —  I  meant  t'  go  away  t'day  an'  leave 
you  because  I  felt  so  mean,  but  th'  old  man  followed  me, 
an'  I  could  n't  run  because  my  arm  pained  some  —  y'  see, 
I  fell  on  it.  So  I  let  him  bring  me  back  because  I  guess 
it 's  up  t'  me  t'  let  you  know  as  I  ain't  fit  t'  be  your 
brother,  Geoff  —  or  Hermy's."  For  a  moment  Spike 
paused,  then  with  an  effort  he  continued  but  kept  his  face 
averted.  "  Geoff,  it  was  me  —  in  the  wood  that  time ! 
Yes,  it  was  me,  an'  I  had  a  gun.  I  —  I  meant  —  t'  do 
you  in,  Geoff  —  " 

Spike's  voice  failed  and  he  was  silent  again,  plucking 
nervously  at  the  sheet,  while  Hermione's  proud  head 
drooped  and  her  hands  clasped  and  wrung  each  other  in 
an  agony  of  shame;  but  to  these  painfully  rigid  hands 
came  another  hand,  big  and  strong  yet  very  gentle,  at 
whose  soothing  touch  those  agonised  fingers  grew  lax 
and  soft,  then  clung  to  that  strong  hand  in  sudden,  eager 
passion. 

"  Poor  old  Spike !  "  said  Ravenslee,  and  his  tone  was 
as  gentle  as  his  touch. 

"But  — but,  Geoff,"  stammered  the  boy.  "I— oh, 
don't  you  see?  I  meant  to  —  kill  you?  " 

"  Yes,  I  understand ;  you  thought  I  deserved  it  — 
why?" 


Geoffrey  Obtains  his  Object     359 

"  Oh,  I  was  crazy,  I  guess !  Bud  told  me  lies  —  an'  I  be 
lieved  him  —  lies  about  you  an'  Hermy  —  he  said  — 
you  'd  make  Hermy  go  —  the  same  road  —  little  Maggie 
Finlay  went  —  sol  came  t'  kill  you  —  " 

"  Spike,  if  you  believed  that,  if  you  really  believed  that, 
I  don't  blame  you  for  trying  a  shot  —  " 

"  But  I  did  n't  —  I  could  n't !  When  I  saw  you  sittin' 
there  so  unsuspectin',  I  just  couldn't  do  it  —  I  tried  to, 
but  I  could  n't.  An'  somehow  I  dropped  th'  gun,  an' 
then  I  heard  a  shot,  an'  when  I  looked  up  I  saw  you  throw 
out  your  arms  an'  fall  —  my  God,  I  '11  never  forget  that ! 
Then  I  saw  Bud  starin'  down  at  you  an'  th'  pistol  smokin* 
in  his  hand.  I  meant  t'  do  it  but  I  could  n't,  so  Bud  did 
it  himself.  I  'm  as  bad  as  him,  I  reckon,  but  it  was  Bud 
shot  you  —  Soapy  saw  him  an'  knows  it  was  Bud  —  ask 
Soapy.  An'  now  I  've  told  you  all ;  I  guess  I  ain't  fit  t' 
stay  here  any  longer." 

Spike's  voice  choked  upon  a  sob,  he  buried  his  face  in 
the  pillow,  and  so  there  fell  a  silence  —  a  strange,  tense 
hush,  a  pause  so  unexpected  that  he  looked  up  and  saw 
that  Hermione's  head  was  bowed  no  longer,  but  she  stood, 
very  proud  and  tall,  gazing  upon  her  husband,  and  in 
her  eyes  was  a  great  and  wondrous  light ;  and  as  she  looked 
on  him  so  he  gazed  on  her.  They  had  no  thought,  no  eyes 
for  Spike  just  then,  wherefore  he  hid  his  face  again. 

"  I  guess  this  about  puts  the  kybosh  on  th'  brothel- 
business  !  "  he  sighed  miserably,  "  an'  I  sure  ain't  fit  t'  be 
th'  Spider's  pal,  I  reckon !  " 

But  now  the  Spider  spoke,  rather  quick  and  jerkily: 

"  Say,  Kid  —  get  onto  this  !  I  'm  takin'  back  —  every 
thing  I  says  t'  you  t'day,  see?  Because,  oh,  well  —  I 
guess  you  've  sure  woke  up  at  last !  So,  Kid  —  give  us 
your  mitt !  " 

Eagerly  Spike  grasped  the  Spider's  big  fist,  and  they 
shook  hands  gravely  and  very  deliberately,  looking  into 
each  other's  eyes  the  while.  Then,  still  quick  and  jerkily, 
the  Spider  turned  and  hurried  out  of  the  room.  Then 
Spike  turned  to  Ravenslee. 


360  The  Definite  Object 

"  Geoff,"  he  sighed,  "  I  'm  not  goin'  to  ask  you  to  for 
give  me  yet,  I  can't  —  I  'm  goin'  t'  wait  an'  show  you  — 

But  as  he  paused  Ravenslee's  hand  was  upon  the  lad's 
drooping  shoulder. 

"  Arthur,"  said  he,  "  from  now  on  —  from  to-night  — 
you  are  going  to  be  my  brother  more  than  ever  —  a 
brother  we  shall  both  be  proud  of  —  what  do  you  say?  " 

But  Spike's  eyes  were  wet,  his  mouth  quivered,  and  in 
stead  of  answering  he  buried  his  face  in  the  pillow  again. 

"  Say,  Hermy,"  he  mumbled,  "  take  him  away  before 
I  do  th'  tear-gushin'  act !  Take  him  down-stairs  —  give 
him  a  drink  —  light  him  a  cigarette  —  kiss  him !  Only 
take  him  away  before  I  get  mushy.  But,  say  —  when 
I  'm  in  bed,  you  '11  —  you  '11  come  an'  —  say  good  night 
like  —  like  you  used  to,  Hermy  dear?  " 

Swiftly  she  stooped  and  kissed  that  curly  head. 

"  I  '11  come  —  oh,  I  '11  come,  boy,  dear !  "  she  murmured, 
and  left  him  with  Mrs.  Trapes^ 

Down-stairs  the  fire  glowed,  filling  the  room  with 
shadows,  and  side  by  side  they  stood  looking  down  into  the 
heart  of  the  fire  and  were  silent  awhile,  and,  though  she 
was  so  near,  he  did  n't  touch  her. 

"  So  it  was  n't  Arthur,  after  all !  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  No,"  she  answered  softly,  "  it  was  n't  Arthur  —  thank 
God!" 

"  Amen ! "  said  he,  so  fervently  that  she  glanced  up  at 
him  swiftly,  then  looked  into  the  fire  again.  Seeing  how 
the  colour  deepened  in  her  cheek,  he  came  a  little  nearer; 
but  still  he  did  n't  touch  her;  instead,  he  took  out  tobacco 
pouch  and  pipe  and  began  to  fill  it  with  strangely  clumsy 
fingers,  and  Hermione  saw  that  his  hands  were  trembling. 

"  Let  me !  "  she  said  gently.  So  he  surrendered  pipe  and 
pouch  and,  watching,  saw  that  her  hands  trembled  also; 
when  at  last  she  had  filled  the  pipe,  he  took  it  and  laid  it 
on  the  table. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  smoke,  dear?  " 

"  No,  not  now.  You  '11  remember  that  Arthur  also 
suggested  you  should  —  " 


Geoffrey  Obtains  his  Object     361 

"  Give  you  something  to  drink !  "  she  added  a  little 
breathlessly  and  crossed  to  the  cellaret  in  the  corner. 
"  Will  you  have  brandy  and  soda?  " 

"  Thanks  —  yes  —  that  will  do,"  he  answered  absently, 
and  when  she  dutifully  brought  the  filled  glass  he  took  it 
and  set  it  down  untasted  beside  the  pipe. 

"  Why,  Geoffrey !  "  she  said  in  murmurous  surprise, 
"  are  n't  you  thirsty?  " 

"  No,  not  now.  You  will  probably  remember  that  Ar 
thur  also  suggested  you  should  —  " 

"  I  know !  "  she  breathed,  "  but,  oh,  Geoffrey,  dear  — 
wait  —  just  a  little  longer." 

"  Why?  "  he  demanded  hoarsely. 

"  Because !  "  she  answered,  staring  down  at  her  clasped 
hands. 

"Why?" 

"  Because,  my  Geoffrey,  if  —  if  I  let  myself  —  kiss  you 
now,  I  —  shall  never  be  able  to  —  tear  myself  away,  and 
I  must  say  good  night  to  Arthur  and  —  " 

She  paused  as  a  knock  sounded  on  the  door,  and  Mrs. 
Trapes  appeared. 

"  Why,  dear  land  o'  my  fathers ! "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Ain't  you  had  time  t*  take  off  your  bonnet  yet,  Hermy?  " 

"  Goodness  me !  "  exclaimed  Hermione,  "  I  forgot  it !  " 
So  saying,  off  it  came,  and  there  was  the  curl  above  her 
eyebrow  more  wantonly  alluring  than  ever. 

"  An'  there  's  that  blessed  b'y,"  continued  Mrs.  Trapes, 
"  a-layin'  up-stairs  yearnin'  for  you,  Hermy,  an'  him  s' 
pale  an'  gentle  —  God  bless  him !  An'  it  now  bein'  exackly 
twenty-two  an'  a  half  minutes  past  'leven  by  my  beautiful 
new  watch  as  ticks  most  musical !  Time  as  you  was  in  bed 
—  both  of  you !  an'  that  reminds  me,  Hermy,  I  sent  your 
maid  t'  bed  like  you  told  me,  an'  with  my  own  two  hands  I 
laid  out  one  o'  them  lovely  noo  nightdresses  —  the  one 
with  the  short  sleeves  an'  lace  as  you  showed  me  last  night 
an'  —  Land  sakes,  she  's  gone !  Think  o'  that  now  — 
my,  my !  Mrs.  Ravenslee  's  wonderful  quick  an'  light  on 
her  feet,  Mr.  Geoffrey !  " 


362          The  Definite  Object 

Here  Mrs.  Trapes  raised  the  watch  to  her  ear  and 
hearkened  to  its  tick  again,  smiling  at  Ravenslee's  broad 
back  as  he  turned  to  reach  his  glass. 

"  Them  nightdresses,"  she  sighed,  "  as  is  all  fluffs  an' 
frills  an'  openwork,  may  be  all  right  when  you  're  young, 
but  for  true  comfort  give  me  —  flannel,  every  time." 

Here  Ravenslee,  in  the  act  of  sipping  his  brandy  and 
soda,  choked;  when  at  last  he  glanced  around,  Mrs. 
Trapes  was  gone. 

Then  he  drew  a  chair  to  the  fire  and,  sitting  down,  took 
up  his  pipe  and  tried  to  light  it,  but  Hermione's  nervous 
white  fingers  had  packed  it  too  tightly  for  mortal  suction, 
whereat  he  sighed  and,  yielding  to  the  impossible,  sat  with 
it  in  his  hand,  lost  in  happy  thought  and  waiting  for  the 
swift  light  footsteps  he  yearned  to  hear. 

The  clock  in  the  hall  without  struck  midnight,  but  long 
after  the  mellow  chime  had  died  away  he  sat  there  waiting ; 
but  the  great  house  lay  very  still  about  him,  and  no  sound 
broke  the  pervading  quiet.  Wherefore  at  last  he  grew 
restless,  frowned  at  the  dying  fire,  and  his  strong  fingers 
clenched  themselves  fiercely  about  the  pipe  they  still 
held. 

All  at  once  he  started,  rose  to  his  feet,  and  turned 
toward  the  door  eager-eyed,  as  a  hand  knocked  softly ; 
before  he  could  speak  it  opened,  and  Mrs.  Trapes  reap 
peared  ;  she  was  clad  in  a  long  flannel  dressing  gown,  and 
as  she  paused  in  the  shadows  by  the  door  he  could  vaguely 
define  that  she  still  held  the  precious  watch  to  her  ear. 

"  It  do  tick  that  musical,"  she  said,  "  an'  I  can't  sleep 
this  night  till  I  've  tried  t'  thank  ye  both  for  —  for  all 
your  goodness  to  a  lonely  woman.  Ah,  Mr.  Geoffrey,  I 
guess  th'  day  as  you  came  seekin'  lodgin's  at  my  little  flat 
was  a  good  day  for  Ann  Angelina  Trapes  —  why,  my 
land,  Mr.  Geoffrey  —  ain't  Hermy  here  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Ravenslee  a  little  bitterly.  "  Oh,  no, 
I  'm  quite  alone  —  as  usual,  Mrs.  Trapes." 

"  Why,  now,  that 's  queer !  " 

"  How  queer?  " 


Geoffrey  Obtains  his  Object     363 

"  Because  I  've  jest  been  into  her  bedroom,  an'  there  's 
her  things  —  except  that  nightdress  —  but  she  —  ain't !  " 

"Not  there?  She  must  be!  Did  you  look  in  —  her 
bed?" 

"  Lord,  Mr.  Geoffrey  —  her  bed  ain't  been  tetched !  " 

"  Then  where  in  the  world  is  she?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Trapes,  consulting  her  watch  again, 
"  it  is  now  exactly  fifteen  and  three-quarter  minutes  after 
midnight,  so  I  guess  she  's  in  bed  somewhere.  But  this  is 
a  big  house,  an'  there  's  lots  of  bedrooms,  so  if  I  was  you, 
I  'd  go  an'  look  —  till  I  found  her  — 

Ravenslee  was  at  the  door  so  swiftly  that  Mrs.  Trapes 
started,  and  she  saw  his  eyes  were  very  bright,  and  the 
hands  he  laid  on  her  bony  shoulders  were  quivering. 

"  Mrs.  Trapes,"  said  he,  "  I  will !  " 

Then  he  stooped,  very  suddenly,  and  kissed  the  thin, 
grey  hair  above  her  grim  eyebrow,  and  so  —  was  gone. 

"  Find  her?  "  mused  Mrs.  Trapes,  glancing  after  him 
up  the  wide  stairs.  "  Why,  yes,  I  guess  he  will  sure  find 
her  —  where  she  should  have  been  weeks  ago.  Lord,  what 
a  silly,  beautiful,  lovely  thing  love  is !  "  and  she  stood 
awhile  smiling  down  into  the  fire,  and  her  smile  was  very 
tender. 

Then  she  sighed,  switched  off  the  lights,  and  went 
softly  away. 


THE  END 


Novels  by  Jeffery  Farnol 


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